[ OCT 3 1990 J

BX 5199 .N55 A37 1830 Newton, John, 1725-1807. The life of the Rev. John Newton, rector of St. Mary

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JHRISTIAN BIOGRAPHY.

W 1.

THE LIFE OB1

THE

REV. JOHN NEWTON,

RECTOR OF ST. MARY WOOLNOTH, LONDON.

"AH AUTHENTIC .NARRATIVE," WRITTEN BY HIMSELF: TO WHICH SOME FURTHER PARTICULARS ARE ADDED.

. ill briflg tlie blind by n way that they knew not \ I will lead them in paths that y have not known ; I will make darkness light before them, and crooked thing*

straight- These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them Ira. 42 1 16.

I :u wonder unto many. — Psaim 71 1 7.

TL-t

m*5

PUBLISHED BY THE

AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY,

No. 144 Nassau-street, New- York

PRINCETON, N. J.

Presented by A . \A ■ L-Q-meTO'Ti,

^„..IC-.£

CHRISTIAN BIOGRAPHY.

THE LIFE OF

THE

RET. JOHN NEWTON,

RECTOR OF ST. MARY WOOLNOTH, LONDON.

'an authentic narrative, written by himself: to which some further particulars are added.

I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not ; I will lead them in paths that they have not known ; I will make darkness light before them, and crooked thing* straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them ha. 42 : 1C.

I am a wonder unto many — Ptalm 71 1 7.

PUBLISHED BY THE

AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY,

No. 144 Nassau-street, New- York

V

THE LIFE

OF THE

REV. JOHIV NEWTOX,

RECTOR OF ST. MARY WOOLNOTH, LONDON.

The following Letters were written by the late Rev. J. JVeicton, to the, Bev. T. Haweis, and were first published in the year 1764.

LETTER I.

I make no doubt but you have at times had pleasing re- flections upon that promise made to the Israelites, in Deut. 8 : 2. They were then in the wilderness, surrounded with difficulties, which were greatly aggravated by their own distrust and perverseness : they had experienced a variety of dispensations, the design of which they could not as yet understand ; they frequently lost sight of God's gracious purposes in their favor, and were much discouraged by rea- son of the way. To compose and animate their minds, Moses here suggests to them, that there was a future happy time drawing near, when their journey and warfare should be finished ; that they should soon be put in possession of the promised land, and have rest from all their fears and troubles ; and then it would give them pleasure to look back upon what they now found so uneasy to bear : " Thou shalt remember all the way by which the Lord thy God led thee through this wilderness."

But the importance and comfort of these words is still greater, if we consider them, in a spiritual sense, as ad- dressed to all who are passing through the wilderness of this world to a heavenly Canaan ; who, by faith in the pro- mises and power of God, are seeking an eternal rest in that kingdom which cannot be shaken. The hope of that glorious inheritance inspires us with some degree of courage and zeal to press forward to the place where Jesus has already entered as our forerunner; and when our eye is fixed upon

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LIFE OF REV. JOHN NEWTON.

him, we are more than conquerors over all that would with- stand our progress. But we have not yet attained ; we still feel the infirmities of a fallen nature : through the remains of ignorance and unbelief, we often mistake the Lord's deal- ings with us, and are ready to complain, when, if we knew all, we should rather rejoice. But to us likewise there is a time coming, when our warfare shall be accomplished, our views enlarged, and our light increased ; then with what transports of adoration and love shall we look back upon the way by which the Lord led us ! We shall then see and acknowledge that mercy and goodness directed every step ; we shall see, that, what our ignorance once called adversi- ties and evils, were in reality blessings, which we could not have done well without ; that nothing befell us without a cause ; that no trouble came upon us sooner, or pressed on us more heavily, or continued longer, than our case re- quired : in a word, that our many afflictions were each in their place among the means employed by divine grace and wisdom, to bring us to the possession of that exceeding and eternal weight of glory which the Lord has prepared for his people. And even in this imperfect state, though we are seldom able to judge aright of our present circumstances, yet if we look upon the years of our past life, and compare the dispensations we have been brought through with the frame of our minds under each successive period; if we con- sider how wonderfully one thing has been connected with another, so that what we now number amongst our greatest advantages, perhaps, took their first rise from incidents which we thought hardly worth our notice ; and that we have sometimes escaped the greatest dangers that threatened us, not by any wisdom or foresight of our own, but by the intervention of circumstances which we neither desired nor thought of: I say, when we compare and consider these things by the light offered us in the Holy Scriptures, we may collect indisputable proof, from the narrow circle of our own concerns, that the wise and good providence of God watches over his people from the earliest moment of their life ; overrules and guards them through all their wanderings in a state of ignorance, and leads them in a way that they know not, till at length his providence and grace concur in those events and impressions which bring them to the know- ledge of him and themselves.

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I am persuaded that every believer will, upon due re- flection, see enough in his own case to confirm this remark ; but not all in the same degree. The outward circumstances of many have been uniform, they have known but little va- riety in life ; and, with respect to their inward change, it has been effected in a secret way, unnoticed by others, and al- most unperceived by themselves. The Lord has spoken to them, not in thunder and tempest ; but with a still small voice he has drawn them gradually to himself; so that, though they have a happy assurance that they know and love him, and are passed from death unto life, yet of the precise time and manner, they can give little account. Others he seems to select in order to show the exceeding riches of his grace, and the greatness of his mighty power: he suffers the natural rebellion and wickedness of their hearts to have full scope : while sinners of less note are cut off with little warning, these are spared, though sinning with a high hand, and, as it were, studying their own destruction. At length, when all that knew them are perhaps expecting to hear that they are made signal instances of divine ven- geance,the Lord (whose thoughts are high above ours, as the heavens are higher than the earth) is pleased to pluck them as brands out of the fire, and to make them monu- ments of his mercy, for the encouragement of others: they are, beyond expectation, convinced, pardoned, and changed

A case of this sort indicates a divine power no less than the creation of a world : it is evidently the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in the eyes of all those who are not blinded by prejudice and unbelief.

Such was the persecuting Saul : his heart was full of en- mity against Jesvs of Nazareth, and therefore he persecuted and made havoc of his disciples.

He had been a terror to the church of Jerusalem, and was going to Damascus with the same views. He was yet breathing out threatenings and slaughter against all that loved the Lord Jesus. He thought little of the mischief he had hitherto done. He was engaged for the suppression of the whole sect ; and hurrying from house to house, from place to place, he carried menaces in his look, and repeated threatenings with every breath. Such was his spirit and temper, when the Lord Jesus, whom he hated and opposed, '.hecked him in the height of his rage, called this bitter per-

LIFE OF REV. JOIIN NEWTON.

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secutoi to the honor of an apostle, and inspired him to preach, with great zeal and earnestness, that faith which he so lately labored to destroy.

Nor are we without remarkable displays of the same sovereign efficacious grace in our own times : I may parti- cularly mention the instance of the late Colonel Gardiner. If any real satisfaction could be found in a sinful course, he would have met with it ; for he pursued the experiment with all possible advantages. He was habituated to evil ; and many uncommon, almost miraculous, deliverances made no impression upon him. Yet, he likewise was made willing in the day of God's power ; and the bright example of his life, illustrated and diffused by the account of him published since his death, has afforded an occasion of much praise to God, and much comfort to his people.

After the mention of such names, can you permit me, Sir, to add my own? If I do, it must be with a very hum- bling distinction. These once eminent sinners proved emi- nent Christians : much had been forgiven them, they loved much. St. Paul could say, " The grace bestowed upon me was not in vain ; for I labored more abundantly than they all." Colonel Gardiner likewise was as a city set upon a hill, a burning and a shining light : the manner of his con- version was hardly more singular than the whole course of his conversation from that time to his death. Here, alas ! the parallel greatly fails. It has not been thus with me. I must take deserved shame to myself, that I have made very unsuitable returns for what. I have received. But, if the question is only concerning the patience and long-suffering of God, the wonderful interposition of his providence in favor of an unworthy sinner, the power of his grace in soft- ening the hardest heart, and the riches of his mercy in par- doning the most enormous and aggravated transgressions ; in these respects I know no case more extraordinary than my own : and indeed most persons to whom I have related my story, have thought it worthy of being preserved.

1 never gave any succinct account, in writing, of the Lord's dealing with me, till very lately : for I was deterred, on the one hand, by the great difficulty of writing properly when Self is concerned; on the other, by the ill use which persons of corrupt and perverse minds are often known to make of such instances. The Psalmist reminds us, that a

LIFE OP REV. JOHN NEWTON.

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reserve in these things is proper, when lie says, " Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath done for ray soul ; and our Lord cautions us not to " cast pearls before swine." The pearls of a Christian are, per- haps, his choice experiences of the Lord's power and love in the concerns of his soul ; and these should not be at all adventures made public, lest we give occasion to earthly and grovelling souls to profane what they cannot under- stand. These were the chief reasons of my backwardness ; but a few weeks since I yielded to the judgment and request of a much-respected friend, and sent him a relation at large, in a series of eight letters. The event has been what I little expected : I wrote to one person ; but my letters have fall- en into many hands : amongst others, I find they have reached your notice; and, instead of blaming me for being too tedious and circumstantial, which was the fault I feared 1 had committed, you are pleased to desire a still more dis- tinct detail. As you and other of my friends apprehend my compliance with this request may be attended with some good effect, may promote the pleasing work of praise to our adorable Redeemer, or confirm the faith of some or other of his people, I am willing to obey : I give up my own reasonings upon the inexpediency of so inconsiderable a person as myself adventuring in so public a point of view. If God may be glorified on my behalf, and his children in any measure comforted or instructed by what I have to de- clare of his goodness, I shall be satisfied ; and am content to leave all other possible consequences of this undertaking in His hands who does all things well.

I must again have recourse to my memory, as I retained no copies of the letters you saw. So far as I can recollect, what I then wrote I will relate ; but shall not affect a need- less variety of phrase and manner, merely because those have been already perused by many. I may, perhaps, in some places, when repeating the same facts, express myself in nearly the same words; yet I propose, according to your desire, to make this relation more explicit and particular than the former ; especially toward the close, which I wound up hastily, lest my friend should be wearied. I hope you w ill likewise excuse me, if I do not strictly confine myself to narration, but now and then intersperse such reflections as may offer while I am writing ; and though you have sig-

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nified your intentions of communicating what I send you to others, I must not, on this account, affect a conciseness and correctness, which is not my natural talent, lest the whole should appear dry and constrained. I shall, therefore, if possible, think only of you, and write with that confidence and freedom which your friendship and candor deserve. This sheet may stand as a preface ; and I purpose, as far as I can, to intermit many other engagements, until I have completed the task you have assigned me. In the mean- time, I entreat the assistance of your prayers, that in this, and all my poor attempts, I may have a single eye to His glory who was pleased to call me out of horrid darkness into the marvellous light of his Gospel.

LETTER II.

1 can sometimes feel a pleasure in repeating the grate- ful acknowledgment of David, " O Lord, I am thy servant, the son of thine handmaid ; thou hast loosed my bonds." The tender mercies of God toward me were manifested in the first moment of my life. I was born, as it were, in his house. My mother (as I have heard from many) was a pious, experienced Christian : she was a dissenter, in communion with the late Dr. Jennings. I was her only child ; and as she was of a weak constitution, and a retired temper, almost her whole employment was the care of my education. I have some faint remembrance of her care and instructions. At a time when I could not be more than three years of age, she herself taught me English ; and with so much suc- cess, (as I had something of a forward turn,) that when I was four years old I could read with propriety in any com- mon book that offered. She stored my memory, which was then very retentive, with many valuable pieces, chap- ters, and portions of Scripture, catechisms, hymns, and poems. My temper at that time seemed quite suitable to her wishes ; I had little inclination to the noisy sports of chil- dren, but was best pleased when in her company, and al- ways as willing to learn as she was to teach me. How far the best education may fall short of reaching the heart, will strongly appear in the sequel of my history : yet I think, for

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the encouragement of pious parents to go on in the good way of doing their part faithfully to form their children's minds, I may properly propose myself as an instance. Though in process of time I sinned away all the advantages of these early impressions, yet they were for a great while a restraint upon me; they returned again and again, and it was very long before I could wholly shake them off; and when the Lord at length opened my eyes, I found a great benefit from the recollection of them. Further, my dear mother, besides the pains she took with me, often com- mended me, with many prayers and tears, to God ; and I doubt not but I reap the fruits of these prayers to this hour.

My mother observed my early progress with peculiar pleasure, and intended, from the first, to bring me up with a view to the ministry, if it should please God to convert me by his grace, and incline my heart to the work. In my sixth year I began to learn Latin ; but before I had time to know much about it, the intended plan of my education was broken short. The Lord's designs were far beyond the views of an earthly parent: he was pleased to reserve me for unu- sual proof of his patience, providence, and grace ; and there- fore overruled the purpose of my friends, by depriving me of this excellent parent when I was something under seven years old. I was born the 24th of July, 1725, and she died the 11th of that month, 1732.

My father was then at sea : (he was a commander in the Mediterranean trade at that time :) he came home the fol- lowing year, and soon after married again. Thus I passed into different hands. I was well treated in all other respects; but the loss of my mother's instructions was not repaired. I was now permitted to mingle with careless and profa*ne children, and soon began to learn their ways. Soon after my father's marriage I was sent to a boarding-school in Essex, where the imprudent severity of the master almost broke my spirit and relish for books. With him I forgot the first principles and rules of arithmetic, which my mother had taught me years before. I staid there two years: in the last of the two, a new usher coming, who observed and suited my temper, I took to the Latin with great eagerness; so that before I was ten years old I reached and maintained the first post in the second class, which in that school read Tully and Virgil. I believe I was pushed forward too fast,

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and therefore, not being grounded, I soon lost all I had learned ; (for I left school in my tenth year ;) and when I long afterward undertook the Latin language from books, I think I had little, if any, advantage from what I had learned before.

My father's second marriage was from a family in Essex; and when I was eleven years old he took me with him to sea. He was a man of remarkable good sense, and great knowledge of the world; he took great care of my morals, but could not supply my mother's part. Having been edu- cated himself in Spain, he always observed an air of dis- tance and severity in his carriage, which overawed and discouraged my spirit. I was always in fear when before him, and therefore he had the less influence. From that time to the year 1742, I made several voyages ; but with consi- derable intervals between ; which were chiefly spent in the country, excepting a few months in my fifteenth year, when I was placed upon a very advantageous prospect at Alicant in Spain. But my unsettled behavior, and impatience of restraint, rendered that design abortive.

In this period, my temper and conduct were exceedingly various. At school, or soon after, I had little concern about religion, and easily received very ill impressions. But I was often disturbed with convictions. I was fond of reading, from a child. Among other books, Bennet's Christian Oratory often came in my way; and though I understood but little of it, the course of life therein recommended appeared very desirable, and I was inclined to attempt it. I began to pray, to read the Scripture, and keep a sort of diary. I was pre- sently religious, in my own eyes ; but, alas ! this seeming goodness had no solid foundation, but passed away like a morning-cloud, or the early dew. I was soon weary, gra- dually gave it up, and became worse than before. Instead of prayer, 1 learned to curse and blaspheme, and was ex- ceedingly wicked when not under my parent's view. All this was before I was twelve years old. About that time I had a dangerous fall from a horse : I was thrown, I believe, within a few inches of a hedge-row newly cut down. I got no hurt ; but could not avoid taking notice of a gracious providence in my deliverance ; for had I fallen upon the stakes, I had inevitably been killed. My conscience sug- gested to me the dreadful consequences, if, in such a state

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II

I had been summoned to appear before God. I presently broke off from my profane practices, and appeared quite altered. But it was not long before I declined again. These struggles between sin and conscience were often repeated ; but the consequence was, that every relapse sunk me into still greater depths of wickedness. I was once roused by the loss of an intimate companion. We had agreed to go on board a man of war; (I think it was on the Sabbath;) but I providentially came too late ; the boat was overset, and he and several others were drowned. I was invited to the funeral of my play-fellow, and was exceedingly affected, to think that by a delay of a few minutes (which had much displeased and angered me till I saw the event) my life had been preserved. However, this likewise was soon forgot. At another time, the perusal of the Family Instructor put me upon a partial and transient reformation. In brief, though I cannot distinctly relate particulars, I think I took up and laid aside a religious profession three or four different times before I was sixteen years of age : but all this while my heart was insincere. I often saw the necessity of religion as a means of escaping hell ; but I loved sin, and was unwill- ing to forsake it. Instances of this, I can remember, were frequent. In the midst of all my forms, I was so strangely blind and stupid, that sometimes when I have been deter- mined upon things which I knew were sinful, and contrary to my duty, I could not go on quietly till I had first des- patched my ordinary task of prayer, in which I have grudged every moment of my time ; and when this was finished, my conscience was in some measure pacified, and I could rush into folly with little remorse.

My last reform was the most remarkable, both for degree and continuance. Of this period, at least of some part of it, I may say in the Apostle's words, " After the straitest sect of our religion, I lived a Pharisee." I did every thing that might be expected from a person entirely ignorant of God's righteousness, and desirous to establish his own. I spent the greatest part of every day in reading the Scriptures, medi- tation, and prayer. I fasted often ; I even abstained from all animal food for three months; I would hardly answer a question for fear of speaking an idle word. I seemed to bemoan my former miscarriages very earnestly, sometimes with tears. In short, I became an ascetic, and endeavored,

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so far as my situation would permit, to renounce society, that I might avoid temptation. I continued in this serious mood (I cannot give it a higher title) for more than two years without any considerable breaking off: but it was a poor religion ; it left me, in many respects, under the power of sin; and, so far as it prevailed, only tended to make me gloomy, stupid, unsociable, and useless.

Such was the frame of my mind when I became ac- quainted with a work of Lord Shaftesbury's. I saw the second volume of his Characteristics in a petty shop at Mid- dleburg, in Holland. The title allured me to buy it, and the style and manner gave me great pleasure in reading, espe- cially the second piece, which his lordship, with great pro- priety, has entitled A Rhapsody. Nothing could be more suited to the romantic turn of my mind than the address of this pompous declamation. Of the design and tendency I was not aware : I thought the author a most religious person, and that I had only to follow him and be happy. Thus, with fine words, and fair speeches, my simple heart was beguiled. This book was always in my hand : I read it till I could very nearly repeat the Rhapsody, word for word, from beginning to end. No immediate effect followed ; but it operated like a slow poison, and prepared the way for all that followed.

This letter brings my history down to December, 1742. 1 was then lately returned from a voyage ; and my father not intending me for the sea again, was thinking how to settle me in the world : but I had little life or spirit for busi- ness ; I knew but little of men and things. I was fond of a visionary scheme of a contemplative life, a medley of reli- gion, philosophy, and indolence ; and was quite averse to the thoughts of an industrious application to business. At length a merchant in Liverpool, an intimate friend of my father's, (to whom, as the instrument of God's goodness, I have since been chiefly indebted for all my earthly com- forts,) proposed to send me for some years to Jamaica, and to charge himself with the care of my future fortune. I con- sented to this ; and every thing was prepared for my voyage. I was upon the point of setting out the following week. In the mean time my father sent me on some business to a place a few miles beyond Maidstone, in Kent; and this little journey, which was to have been only for three or four days, occasioned a sudden and remarkable turn, which roused

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me from the habitual indolence I had contracted, and gave rise to the series of uncommon dispensations, of which you desire a more particular account. So true it is, that " the way of man is not in himself ; it is not in man that walketh io direct his steps."

LETTER III.

A few days before my intended journey into Kent, I re- ceived an invitation to visit a family in that county. They were distant relations, but very intimate friends of my dear mother. She died in their house ; but a coolness took place upon my father's second marriage, and I had heard nothing of them for many years. As my road lay within half a mile of their house, I obtained my father's leave to call on. them. I was, however, very indifferent about it, and sometimes thought of passing on : however, I went. I was known at first sight, before I could tell my name, and met with the kindest reception, as the child of a dear deceased friend. My friends had two daughters. The eldest (as I understood some years afterward) had been often considered by her mother and mine, as a future wife for me, from the time of her birth. I know, indeed, that intimate friends frequently amuse themselves with such distant prospects for their chil- dren, and that they miscarry much oftener than succeed. I do not say that my mother predicted what was to happen, yet there was something remarkable in the manner of its taking place. All intercourse between the families had been long broken off; I was going into a foreign country, and only called to pay a hasty visit ; and this I should not have thought of, but for a message received just at that crisis, for 1 had not been invited at any time before. Thus the cir- cumstances were precarious in the highest degree, and the event was as extraordinary. Almost at the first sight of this girl (for she was then under fourteen) I was impressed with an affection for her, which never abated or lost its influ- ence a single moment in my heart from that hour. In de- gree, it actually equalled all that the writers of romance have imagined ; in duration, it was unalterable. I soon lost all sense of religion, and became deaf to the remonstran- ces of conscience and prudence ; but my regard for her was

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always the same ; and I may perhaps venture to say, that none of the scenes of misery and wickedness I afterward ex- perienced, ever banished her a single hour together from my waking thoughts, for the seven following years.

Give me leave, Sir, to reflect a little upon this unex- pected incident, and to consider its influence upon my fu- ture life, and how far it was subservient to the views of Divine Providence concerning me ; which seem to have been twofold ; that by being given up for a while to the consequences of my own wilfulness, and afterward reclaim- ed by a high hand, my case, so far as it should be known, might be both a warning and an encouragement to others.

In the first place, hardly any thing less than this violent and commanding passion would have been sufficient to awaken me from the dull melancholy habit I had contract- ed. I was almost a misanthrope, notwithstanding I so much admired the pictures of virtue and benevolence, as drawn by lord Shaftesbury ; but now my reluctance to active life was overpowered at once, and I was willing to be or to do any thing which might subserve the accomplishment of my wishes at some future time.

Farther, when I afterward made shipwreck of faith, hope, and conscience, my love to this person was the only remain- ing principle which in any degree supplied their place ; and the bare possibility of seeing her again, was the only pre- sent and obvious means of restraining me from the most horrid designs against myself and others.

But then the ill effects it brought upon me counterba- lanced these advantages. The interval usually styled the time of courtship, is indeed a pleasing part of life, where there is a mutual affection, the consent of friends, a reason- able prospect as to settlement, and the whole is conducted in a prudential manner, and in subordination to the will and fear of God. When things are thus situated, it is a blessing to be susceptive of the tender passions. But when these concomitants are wanting, what we call love, is the most tor- menting passion in itself, and the most destructive in its con- sequences, that can be named. And they were all wanting in my case. I durst not mention it to her friends, or to my own, nor indeed, for a considerable time, to herself, as I could make no proposals : it remained as a dark fire, locked up in my own breast, which gave me constant uneasiness

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By introducing an idolatrous regard to a creature, it greatly weakened my sense of religion, and made farther way for the entrance of infidel principles ; and though it seemed to promise great things, as an incentive to diligence and activity in life, in reality it performed nothing. I often formed mighty projects in my mind of what I would willingly do or suffer for the sake of her I loved ; yet while I could have her company, I was incapable of forcing myself away, to im- prove opportunities that offered. Still less could it do in regulating my conduct. It did not prevent me from engaging in a long train of excess and riot, utterly unworthy the ho- norable pretensions I had formed. And though, through the wonderful interposition of Divine Goodness, the maze of my follies was at length unravelled, and my wishes crowned in such a manner as overpaid my sufferings, yet I am sure I would not go through the same series of trouble again to possess all the treasures of both the Indies. I have enlarged more than I intended on this point, as perhaps these papers may be useful to caution others against indulging an ungo- vernable passion, by my painful experience. How often may such headstrong votaries be said " to sow the wind, and to reap the whirlwind !"

My heart being now fixed and riveted to a particular object, I considered every thing I was concerned with in a new light. I concluded it would be absolutely impossible to live at such a distance as Jamaica, for a term of four or five years; and therefore determined, at all events, that I would not go. I could not bear either to acquaint my father with the true reason, or to invent a false one; therefore, without taking any notice to him why I did so, I stayed three weeks, instead of three days, in Kent, till I thought (as it proved) the opportunity would be lost, and the ships sailed. I then returned to London. I had highly displeased my father by this disobedience ; but he was more easily reconciled than I could have expected. In a little time I sailed with a friend of his to Venice. In this voyage I was exposed to the com- pany and ill-example of the common sailors, among whom I ranked. Importunity and opportunity presenting every day, I once more began to relax from the sobriety and order which I had observed, in some degree, for more than two years. I was sometimes pierced with sharp convictions ; but though I made a few faint efforts to stop, I at no time re-

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covered from this declension, as I had done from several before : I did not indeed, as yet, turn out profligate ; but 1 was making large strides toward a total apostacy from God. The most remarkable check and alarm I received (and, for what I know, the last) was by a dream, which made a very strong, though not abiding impression upon my mind.

The consideration of whom I am writing to, renders it needless for me either to enter upon a discussion of the nature of dreams in general, or to make an apology for re- cording my own. Those who acknowledge Scripture will allow that there have been monitory and supernatural dreams, evident communications from heaven, either di- recting or foreteling future events: and those who are ac- quainted with the history and experience of the people of God, are well assured, that such intimations "have not been totally withheld in any period down to the present times. Reason, far from contradicting this supposition, strongly pleads for it, where the process of reasoning is rightly under- stood and carefully pursued. So that a late eminent writer, who I presume is not generally charged with enthusiasm, undertakes to prove, that the phaenomenon of dreaming is inexplicable at least, if not absolutely impossible, without taking in the agency and intervention of spiritual beings, to us invisible. For my own part, I can say, without scruple, " The dream is certain, and the interpretation thereof sure." I am sure I dreamed to the following effect ; and I cannot doubt, from what I have seen since, that it had a direct and easy application to my own circumstances, to the dangers in which I was about to plunge myself, and to the unmerited deliverance and mercy which God would be pleased to afford me in the time of my distress.

Though 1 have written out a relation of this dream more than once for others, it has happened that I never reserved a copy ; but the principal incidents are so deeply engraven on my memory, that I believe I am not liable to any consi- derable variation in repeating the account. The scene pre- sented to my imagination was the harbor of Venice, where we had lately been. I thought it was night, and my watch upon the deck ; and that, as I was walking to and fro by myself a person came to me, (I do not remember from whence,) and brought me a ring, with an express charge to keep it carefully ; assuring me, that white I preserved that

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ring, I should be happy and successful ; but if I lost or part- ed with it, 1 must expect nothing but trouble and misery I accepted the present and the terms willingly, not in the least doubting my own care to preserve it, and highly satis- fied to have my happiness in my own keeping. I was en- gaged in these thoughts, when a second person came to me, and observing the ring on my finger, took occasion to ask me some questions concerning it. I readily told him its vir- tues ; and his answer expressed a surprise at my weakness, in expecting such effects from a ring. I think he reasoned with me some time upon the impossibility of the thing; and at length urged me, in direct terms, to throw it away. At first I was shocked at the proposal ; but his insinuations prevailed. I began to reason and doubt myself ; and at last plucked it off my finger, and dropped it over the ship's side into the water ; which it had no sooner touched, than I saw, the same instant, a terrible fire burst out from a range of the mountains, (a part of the Alps,) which appeared at some distance behind the city of Venice. I saw the hills as dis- tinct as if awake, and they were all in flames. I perceived, too late, my folly ; and my tempter, with an air of insult, informed me, that all the mercy God had in reserve for me was comprised in that ring, which I had wilfully thrown away. I understood that I must now go with him to the burning mountains ; and that all the flames I saw were kin- dled upon my account. I trembled, and was in a great agony ; so that it was surprising I did not then awake : but my dream continued ; and when I thought myself upon the point of a constrained departure, and stood, self-condemn- ed, without plea or hope, suddenly, either a third person, or the same who brought the ring at first, came to me, (I am not certain whici^) and demanded the cause of my grief. I told him the plain case, confessing that I had ruined myself wilfully, and deserved no pity. He blamed my rashness ; and asked if 1 should be wiser supposing I had my ring again? I could hardly answer to this ; for I thought it was gone beyond recall. I believe, indeed, I had not time to answer, before I saw this unexpected friend go down under the water, just in the spot where I had dropped it ; and he soon returned, bringing the ring with him. The moment ho came on board the flames in the mountains were extin- guished, and my seducer left me. Then was " the prey

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[18

taken from the hand of the mighty, and the lawful captive delivered." My fears were at an end, and with joy and gratitude I approached my kind deliverer to receive the ring again ; but he refused to return it, and spoke to this effect : If you should be intrusted with this ring again, you would very soon bring yourself into the same distress ; you are not able to keep it ; but I will preserve it for you, and, whenever it is needful, will produce it in your behalf." Upon this I awoke in a state of mind not easy to be de- scribed : I could hardly eat, or sleep, or transact my neces- sary business, for two or three days. But the impression soon wore off, and in a little time I totally forgot it ; and I think it hardly occurred to my mind again till several years afterward. It will appear, in the course of these papers, that a time came when I found myself in circumstances very nearly resembling those suggested by this extraordinary dream, when I stood helpless and hopeless upon the brink of an awful eternity ; and I doubt not that, had the eyes of my mind been then opened, I should have seen my grand enemy, who had seduced me wilfully to renounce and cast away my religious profession, and to involve myself in the most complicated crimes, pleased with my agonies, and waiting for a permission to seize and bear away my soul to his place of torment. I should perhaps have seen likewise, that Jesus, whom I had persecuted and defied, rebuking the adversary, challenging me for his own, as a brand plucked out of the fire, and saying, " Deliver him from going down to the pit : I have found a ransom." However, though I saw not these things, I found the benefit ; I obtained mercy. The Lord answered for me in the day of my distress ; and blessed be his name, he who restored the ring, (or what was signified by it,) vouchsafes to keep it. O^hat an unspeak- able comfort is this, that I am not in my own keeping ! — " The Lord is my Shepherd." I have been enabled to trust my all in his hands ; and I know in whom I have believed. Satan still desires to have me, that he might sift me as wheat ; but my Savior has prayed for me, that my faith may not fail. Here is my security and power; a bulwark against which the gates of hell cannot prevail. But for this, many a time and often (if possible) I should have ruined myself since my first deliverance ; nay, I should fall, and stumble, and perish still, after all that the Lord has done for me., if his faithful-

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ness were not engaged in my behalf, to be my sun and shield even unto death. — " Bless the Lord, O my soul."

Nothing very remarkable occurred in the following part of that voyage. I returned home in December, 1743, and soon after repeated my visit to Kent, where I protracted my stay in the same imprudent manner I had done before j, which again disappointed my father's designs in my favor, and al- most provoked him to disown me. Before any thing suita- ble offered again, I was impressed, (owing entirely to my own thoughtless conduct, which was all of a piece,) and put on board a tender: it was at a critical juncture, when the French fleets were hovering upon our coast, so that my father was unable to procure my release. In a few days I was sent on board the Harwich man-of-war, at the Nore : I entered here upon quite a new scene of life, and endured much hardship for about a month. My father was then will- ing that I should remain in the navy, as a war was daily ex- pected, and procured me a recommendation to the captain, who took me upon the quarter-deck as a midshipman. 1 had now an easy life as to externals, and might have gained re- spect; but my mind was unsettled, and my behavior very indifferent. I here met with companions who completed the ruin of my principles ; and though I affected to talk of virtue, and was not so outwardly abandoned as afterward, yet my delight and habitual practice was wickedness. My chief in- timate was a person of exceeding good natural talents, and much observation ; he was the greatest master of what is called the free-thinking scheme I remember to have met with, and knew how to insinuate his sentiments in the most plau- sible way. And his zeal was equal to his address : he could hardly have labored more in the cause, if he had expected to gain heaven by it. Allow me to add, while I think of it, that this man whom I honored as my master, and whose practice I adopted so eagerly, perished in the same way as I expected to have done. I have been told that he was overtaken in a voyage from Lisbon by a violent storm ; the vessel and people escaped, but a great sea broke on board, and swept him into eternity. Thus the Lord spares or pu- nishes, according to his sovereign pleasure ! But to return : I was fond of his company ; and having myself a smattering of books, was eager enough to show my reading. He soon perceived my case, that I had not wholly broken through

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the restraints of conscience, and therefore did not shock mo at first with too broad intimations of his design ; he rather, as I thought, spoke favorably of religion ; but when he had gained my confidence, he began to speak plainer ; and per- ceiving my ignorant attachment to the characteristics, he joined issue with me upon that book, and convinced me that I had never understood it. In a word, he so plied me with objections and arguments, that my depraved heart was soon gained, and I entered into his plan with all my spirit. Thus, like an unwary sailor, who quits his port just before a rising storm, I renounced the hopes and comforts of the Gospel at the very time when every other comfort was about to fail me.

In December, 1744, the Harwich was in the Downs, bound to the East Indies. The captain gave me liberty to go on shore for a day; but without consulting prudence, or regarding consequences, I took horse, and following the dictates of my restless passion, I went to take a last leave of her I loved. I had little satisfaction in the interview, as I was sensible that I was taking pains to multiply my own troubles. The short time I could stay passed like a dream ; and on new-year's day, 1745, 1 took nvy leave to return to the ship. The captain was prevailed on to excuse my ab- sence ; but this rash step (especially as it was not the first liberty of the kind I had taken) highly displeased him, and lost me his favor, which I never recovered.

At length we sailed from Spithead with a very large fleet. We put into Torbay with a change of wind ; but it return- ing fair again, we sailed the next day. Several of our fleet were lost in attempting to leave that place ; but the follow- ing night the whole fleet was greatly endangered upon the coast of Cornwall, by a storm from the southward. The darkness of the night, and the number of the vessels, occa- sioned much confusion and damage. Our ship, though seve- ral times in imminent danger of being run down by other vessels, escaped unhurt ; but many suffered much, particu- larly the Admiral. This occasioned our putting back to Plymouth.

While we lay at Plymouth, I heard that my father, who had interest in some of the ships lately lost, was come down to Torbay. He had a connection at that time with the Afri- can Company. I thought, if I could get to him, he might

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easily introduce me into that service, which would he hetter than pursuing a long, uncertain voyage to the East Indies. It was a maxim with me in those unhappy days, never to deliberate : the thought hardly occurred to me, but I was re- solved to leave the ship at all events; I did so, and in the wrongest manner possible. I was sent one day in the boat, to take care that none of the people deserted ; but 1 betray- ed my trust, and went off myself. I knew not what road to take, and durst not ask, for fear of being suspected; yet having some general idea of the country, I guessed right ; and when I had travelled some miles, I found, upon inquiry, that I was on the road to Dartmouth. All went smoothly that day, and part of the next ; I walked apace, and expect- ed to have been with my father in about two hours, when I was met by a small party of soldiers. I could not avoid or deceive them. They brought me back to Plymouth ; I walked through the streets guarded like a felon. My heart was full of indignation, shame, and fear. I was confined two days in the guard-house, then sent on board my ship, kept a while in irons, then publicly stripped and whipped ; after which I was degraded from my office, and all my former companions forbidden to show me the least favor, or even to speak to me. As midshipman, I had been entitled to some command, which (being sufficiently haughty and vain) I had not been backward to exert. I was now, in my turn, brought down to a level with the lowest, and exposed to the in- sults of all.

And, as my present situation was uncomfortable, my fu- ture prospects were still worse ; the evils I suffered were likely to grow heavier every day. While my catastrophe was recent, the officers, and my quondam brethren, were something disposed to screen me from ill usage ; but during the little time I remained with them afterward, I found them cool very fast in their endeavors to protect me. In- deed they could not avoid it without running a great risk of sharing with me ; for the captain, though in general a humane man, who behaved very well to the ship's company, was almost implacable in his resentment when he had been greatly offended, and took several occasions to show him- self so to me ; and the voyage was expected to be (as it proved) for five years. Yet I think nothing I either felt or feared distressed me so much as to see myself thus forcibly

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torn away from the object of my affections under a great improbability of seeing her again, and a much greater of re- turning in such a manner as would give me hopes of seeing her mine. Thus I was as miserable on all hands as could well be imagined. My breast was filled with the most ex- cruciating passions, eager desire, bitter rage, and black des- pair. Every hour exposed me to some new insult and hard- ship, with no hope of relief or mitigation; no friend to take my part, or to listen to my complaint. Whether I looked inward or outward, I could perceive nothing but darkness and misery. I think no case, except that of a conscience %vounded by the wrath of God, could be more dreadful than mine : I cannot express with what wishfulness and regret I cast my last looks upon the English shore : I kept my eyes fixed upon it till, the ship's distance increasing, it insensibly disappeared ; and when I could see it no longer, I was tempted to throw myself into the sea, which (according to the wicked system I had adopted) would put a period to all my sorrows at once. But the secret hand of God restrained me. Help me to praise him, dear Sir, for his wonderful goodness to the most unworthy of all his creatures.

LETTER IV

Though I desired your instructions as to the manner and extent of these memoirs, I began to write before I received them, and had almost finished the preceding sheet when your favor of the 11th came to hand. I shall find another occasion to acknowledge my sense of your kind expressions of friendship, which I pray the Lord I may never give you cause to repent of or withdraw; at present I shall confine myself to what more particularly relates to the task assigned me. I shall obey you, Sir, in taking notice of the little inci- dents you recall to my memory, and of others of the like nature, which, without your direction, I should have thought too trivial, and too much my own, to deserve mentioning. When I began the eight letters, I intended to say no more of myself than might be necessary to illustrate the wonders of divine providence and grace in the leading turns of my

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life ; but I account your judgment a sufficient warrant for enlarging my plan.

Amongst other things, you desired a more explicit ac- count of the state and progress of my courtship, as it is usual- ly phrased. This was the point in which I thought it espe- cially became me to be very brief; but 1 submit to you ; and this seems a proper place to resume it, by telling you how it stood at the time of my leaving England. AVhen my in- clinations first discovered themselves, both parties were so young, that no one but myself considered it in a serious view. It served for tea-table talk amongst our friends ; and nothing farther was expected from it. But afterward, when my passion seemed to have abiding effects, so that in an in- terval of two years it was not at all abated ; and especially as it occasioned me to act without any regard to prudence or interest, or my father's designs ; and as there was a cool- ness between him and the family, her parents began to con- sider it as a matter of consequence ; and when I took my last leave of them, her mother, at the same time that she expressed the most tender affection for me, as if I had been her own child, told me, that, though she had no objections to make, upon a supposition that at a maturer age there should be a probability of our engaging upon a prudent pros- pect, yet as things then stood, she thought herself obliged to interfere ; and therefore desired I would no more think of returning to their house, unless her daughter was from home, till such time as I could either prevail with myself entirely to give up my pretensions, or could assure her that I had my father's express consent to continue them. Much de- pended on Mrs. N 's part in this affair ; it was some- thing difficult ; but though she was young, gay, and quite unpractised in such matters, she was directed to a happy medium. A positive encouragement, or an absolute refusal, would have been attended with equal, though different dis- advantages. But without much studying about it, I found her always upon her guard : she had penetration to see her absolute power over me, and prudence to make a proper use of it ; she would neither understand my hints, nor give me room to come to a direct explanation. She has said since, that, from the first discovery of my regard, and long before the thought was agreeable to her, she had often an unaccountable impression upon her mind, that sooner or

24 LIFE OF BEV. JOHN NEWTON. [24

later she should be mine. Upon these terms we parted.

I now return to my voyage. During our passage to Ma- deira I was a prey to the most gloomy thoughts. Though I had well deserved all I met with, and the captain might have been justified if he had carried his resentment still far- ther ; yet my pride at that time suggested that I had been grossly injured : and this so far wrought upon my wicked heart, that I actually formed designs against his life ; and this was one reason that made me willing to prolong my own. I was sometimes divided between the two, not think- ing it practicable to effect both. The Lord had now, to ap- pearance, given me up to judicial hardness; I was capable of any thing. I had not the least fear of God before my eyes, nor (so far as I remember) the least sensibility of con- science. I was possessed of so strong a spirit of delusion, that I believed my own lie, and was firmly persuaded that after death I should cease to be. Yet the Lord preserved me ! Some intervals of sober reflection would at times take place : when I have chosen death rather than life, a ray of hope would come in (though there was Little probability for such a hope) that I should yet see better days ; that I might again return to England, and have my wishes crowned, if I did not wilfully throw myself away. In a word, my love to

Mrs. N was now the only restraint I had left. Though

I neither feared God, nor regarded men, I could not bear that she should think meanly of me when I was dead. As, in the outward concerns of life, the weakest means are often employed by Divine Providence to produce great effects, beyond their common influence, (as when a disease, for in- stance, has been removed by a fright,) so I found it then ; this single thought, which had not restrained me from a thousand smaller evils, proved my only and effectual bar- rier against the greatest and most fatal temptations. How long I could have supported this conflict, or what, humanly speaking, would have been the consequences of my con- tinuing in that situation, I cannot say ; but the Lord, whom I little thought of, knew my danger, and was providing for my deliverance.

Two things I had determined when at Plymouth ; that I would not go to India, and that I would go to Guinea ; and such, indeed, was the Lord's will concerning me ; but they were to be accomplished in his way, not in my own. We

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had been now at Madeira some time : the business of the fleet was completed, and we were to sail the following day. On that memorable morning I was late in bed, and had slept longer, but that one of the midshipmen (an old com- panion) came down, and, between jest and earnest, bade me rise ; and as I did not immediately comply, he cut down the hammock, or bed, in which I lay ; which forced me to dress myself. I was very angry, but durst not resent it. I was little aware how much his caprice affected me ; and that this person, who had no design in what he did, was the mes- senger of God's providence. I said little, but went upon deck, where I that moment saw a man putting his clothes into a boat, who told me he was going to leave us. Upon inquiring, I was informed that two men, from a Guinea ship which lay near us, had entered on board the Harwich, and that the commodore (Sir George Pocock) had ordered the captain to send two others in their room. My heart instantly burned like fire. I begged the boat might be de- tained a few minutes : I ran to the lieutenants, and intreated them to intercede with the captain, that I might be dis- missed. Upon this occasion, though I had been formerly upon ill terms with these officers, and had disobliged them all in their turns, they pitied my case, and appeared ready to serve me. The captain, who, when we were at Ply- mouth, had refused to exchange me, though at the request of Admiral Medly, was now easily prevailed on. I believe, in little more than half an hour from my being asleep in my bed, I saw myself discharged, and safe on board another ship. This was one of the many critical turns of my life, in which the Lord was pleased to display his providence and care, by causing many unexpected circumstances to concur in almost an instant of time. These sudden opportunities were several times repeated ; each of them brought me into an entire new scene of action, and they were usually de- layed to almost the last moment in which they could have taken place.

The ship I went on board was bound to Sierra Leone, and the adjacent parts of what is called the Windward Coast of Africa. The commander, I found, was acquainted with my father : he received me very kindly, and made fair pro- fessions of assistance, and I believe would have been my friend ; but without making the least advantage of former

&

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mistakes and troubles, I pursued the same course ; nay, if possible, I acted much worse. On board the Harwich, though my principles were totally corrupted, yet, as upon my first going there I was in some degree staid and serious, the remembrance of this made me ashamed of breaking out in that notorious manner I could otherwise have indulged. But now, entering amongst strangers, I could appear without disguise ; and I well remember, that, while 1 was passing from the one ship to the other, this was one reason why I rejoiced in the exchange, and one reflection I made upon the occasion, namely, " that I now might be as abandoned as I pleased, without any control;" and from this time I was exceedingly vile indeed, little, if any thing, short of that ani- mated description of an almost irrecoverable state, which we have in 2 Pet. 2 : 14. I not only sinned with a high hand myself, but made it my study to tempt and seduce others upon every occasion ; nay, 1 eagerly sought occasion, sometimes to my own hazard and hurt. One natural conse- quence of this carriage was, a loss of the favor of my new captain ; not that he was at all religious, or disliked my wickedness any further than it affected his interest, but 1 became careless and disobedient : I did not please him, be- cause I did not intend it ; and as he was a man of an odd temper likewise, we the more easily disagreed. Besides, I had a little of that unluckly wit, which can do little more than multiply troubles and enemies to its possessor ; and, upon some imagined affront, I made a song, in which I ridi- culed his ship, his designs, and his person, and soon taught it to the whole ship's company. Such was the ungrateful return I made for his offers of friendship and protection. I had mentioned no names ; but the allusion was plain ; and he was no stranger either to the intention or the author. I shall say no more of this part of my story ; let it be buried in eter- nal silence. But let me not be silent from the praise of that grace which could pardon, that blood which could expiate such sins as mine. Yea, " the Ethiopian may change his skin, and the leopard his spots," since I, who was the willing slave of every evil, possessed with a legion of unclean spi- rits, have been spared, and saved, and changed, to stand as a monument of his almighty power for ever.

Thus I went on for about six months, by which time the ship was preparing to leave the coast. A few days bef >re

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she sailed the captain died. I was not upon much better terms with his mate, who now succeeded to the command, and had, upon some occasion, treated me ill. I made no doubt but if I went with him to the West Indies, he would put me on board a man-of-war; and this, from what 1 had known already, was more dreadful to me than death. To avoid it, I determined to remain in Africa ; and amused my- self with many golden dreams, that here I should find an opportunity of improving my fortune.

There are still upon that part of the coast a few white men settled, (and there were many more at the time I was first there,) whose business it was to purchase slaves, &c. in the rivers and country adjacent, and sell them to the ships at an advanced price. One of these, who at first landed in my in- digent circumstances, had acquired considerable wealth: he had lately been in England, and was returning in the vessel I was in, of which he owned a quarter part. His example impressed me with hopes of the same success ; and, upon condition of entering into his service, 1 obtained my dis- charge. I had not the precaution to make any terms, but trusted to his generosity. 1 received no compensation for my time on board the ship, but a bill upon the owners in England, which was never paid, for they failed before my return. The day the vessel sailed I landed upon the island of Benanoes, with little more than the clothes upon my back, as if I had escaped shipwreck.

LETTER V.

There seems an important instruction, and of frequent use, in these words of our dear Lord, " Mine hour is not yet come." The two following years, of which I am now to give some account, will seem as an absolute blank in a very short life : but as the Lord's hour of grace was not yet come, I was to have still deeper experience of the dreadful state of the heart of man when left to itself. I have seen frequent cause since to admire the mercy of the Lord, in banishing me to those distant parts, and almost excluding me from human society, at a time when I was big with mischief, and, like one infected with a pestilence, was capable of spreading

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a taint wherever I went. Had my affairs taken a different turn, had I succeeded in my designs, and remained in Eng- land, my sad story would probably have been worse. Worse in myself, indeed, I could hardly have been; but my wick- edness would have had a greater scope ; I might have been very hurtful to others, and multiplied irreparable evils. But the Lord wisely placed me where I could do little harm. The few I had to converse with were too much like myself, and I was soon brought into such abject circumstances, that I was too low to have any influence. I was rather shunned and despised than imitated ; there being few, even of the negroes themselves, (during the first year of my residence among them,) but thought themselves too good to speak to me. I was as yet an " outcast lying in my blood," (Ezek. 16 : 6.) and, to all appearance, exposed to perish. But the Lord beheld me with mercy, He did not strike me to hell, as I justly deserved ; " he passed by me when I was in my blood, and said unto me, Live." But the appointed time for the manifestation of his love, to cover all my iniquities with the robe of his righteousness, and to admit me to the privileges of his children, was not till long afterward ; yet even now he bade me live; and I can only ascribe it to his secret upholding power, that what I suffered in a part of this interval did not bereave me either of my life or senses : yet, as by these sufferings the force of my evil example and inclination was lessened, I have reason to account them amongst my mercies.

It may not, perhaps, be amiss to digress for a few lines, and give you a very brief sketch of the geography of the circuit I was now confined to, especially as I may have fre- quent occasion to refer to places I shall now mention ; for my trade afterward, when the Lord gave me to see better days, was chiefly to the same places, and with the same per- sons, where and by whom I had been considered as upon a level with their meanest slaves. From Cape de Verd, the most western point of Africa, to Cape Mount, the whole coast is full of rivers ; the principal are, Gambia, Rio Grande, Sierra Leone, and Sherbro. Of the former, as it is well known, and I was never there, I need say nothing. The Rio Grande (like the Nile) divides into many branches near the sea. On the most northerly, called Cacheo, the Portuguese have a settlement. The most southern branch, known by

LIFE OP REV. JOHN NEWTON.

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the name of Rio Nuna, is, or then was, the usual boundary of the white men's trade northward. Sierra Leone is a mountainous peninsula, uninhabited, and, I believe, inacces- sible, upon account of the thick woods, excepting those parts which lie near the water. The river is large and navi- gable. From hence, about twelve leagues to the south-east, are three contiguous islands, called the Benanoes, about twenty miles in circuit ; this was about the centre of the white men's residence. Seven leagues farther, the same tray, lie the Plantanes, three small islands, two miles dis- tant from the continent at the point, which forms one side of the Sherbro. This river is more properly a sound, run- ning within a long island, and receiving the confluence of several large rivers, " rivers unknown to song" but far more deeply engraven in my remembrance than the Po or Tyber. The southernmost of these has a very peculiar course, almost parallel to the coast ; so that in tracing it a great many leagues upward, it will seldom lead one above three miles, and sometimes not more than half a mile from the sea-shore. Indeed, I know not but that all these rivers may have communications with each other, and with the sea in many places, which I have not remarked. If you cast your eyes upon a large map of Africa while yon are reading this, you will have a general idea of the country I was in : for though the maps are very incorrect, most of the places I have mentioned are inserted, and in the same order as I have named them.

My new master had formerly resided near Cape Mount, but now he settled at the Plantanes, upon the largest of the three islands. It is a low sandy island, about two miles in circumference, and almost covered with palm-trees. We immediately began to build a house, and to enter upon trade. I had now some desire to retrieve my lost time, and to exert diligence in what was before me; and he was a man with whom I might have lived tolerably well, if he had not been soon influenced against me : but he was much under the direction of a black woman, who lived with him as a wife. She was a person of some consequence in her own country, and he owed his first rise to her interest. This woman (I know not for what reason) was strangely prejudiced against me from the first ; and what made it still worse for me, was a severe fit of illness, which attacked mc very

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soon, before I had opportunity to show what I could or would do in his service. I was sick when he sailed in a shallop to Rio Nuna, and he left me in her hands. At first I was taken some care of ; but as I did not recover very soon, she grew weary, and entirely neglected me. I had sometimes not a little difficulty to procure a draught of cold water when burning with a fever. My bed was a mat spread upon a board or chest, and a log of wood my pillow. When my fever left me, and my appetite returned, I would gladly have eaten, but there was no one gave unto me. She lived in plenty herself, but hardly allowed me sufficient to sustain life, except now and then, when in the highest good humor, she would send me victuals in her own plate after she had dined ; and this (so greatly was my pride humbled) I re- ceived with thanks and eagerness, as the most needy beggar does an alms. Once, I well remember, I was called to re- ceive this bounty from her own hand ; but being exceeding weak and feeble, I dropped the plate. Those who live in plenty can hardly conceive how this loss touched me ; but she had the cruelty to laugh at my disappointment ; and though the table was covered with dishes, (for she lived much in the European manner,) she refused to give me any more. My distress has been at times so great as to compel me to go by night and pull up roots in the plantation, (though at the risk of being punished as a thief,) which I have eaten raw upon the spot, for fear of discovery. The roots I speak of are very wholesome food when boiled or roasted ; but as unfit to be eaten raw, in any quantity, as a potatoe. The consequence of this diet, which, after the first experiment, I always expected, and seldom missed, was the same as if I had taken tartar emetic ; so that I have often returned as empty as I went ; yet necessity urged me to repeat the trial several times. I have sometimes been re- lieved by strangers ; nay, even by the slaves in the chain, who have secretly brought me victuals (for they durst not be seen to do it) from their own slender pittance. Next to pressing want, nothing sits harder upon the mind than scorn and contempt ; and of this, likewise, I had an abundant measure. When I was very slowly recovering, this woman would sometimes pay me a visit, not to pity or relieve, but to insult me. She would call me worthless and indolent, and compel me to walk ; which, when I could hardly do, she

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would set her attendants to mimic my motion, to clap their hands, laugh, and throw limes at me ; or, if they chose, to throw stones; (as I think was the case once or twice;) they were not rebuked ; but, in general, though all who depended on her favor must join in her treatment, yet, when she was out of sight I was rather pitied than scorned by the meanest of her slaves. At length my master returned from his voyage. I complained of ill usage; but he could not believe me; and as I did it in her hearing, I fared no better for it. But in his second voyage he took me with him. We did pretty well for awhile, till a brother-trader he met in the river persuaded him that I was unfaithful, and stole his goods in the night, or when he was on shore. This was almost the only vice I could not be justly charged with : the only remains of a good education 1 could boast of was what is commonly called honesty ; and, as far as he had entrusted me, I had been always faithful ; and though my great distress might, in some measure, have excused it, I never once thought of defrauding him in the smallest matter. However, the charge was believed, and I was condemned without evi dence. From that time he likewise used me very hardly : whenever he left the vessel I was locked upon deck, with a pint of rice for my day's allowance ; and if he staid longer, I had no relief till his return. Indeed, I believe I should have been nearly starved, but for an opportunity of catching fish sometimes. When fowls were killed for his own use I seldom was allowed any part but the entrails, to bait my hooks with : and at what we call slack water, that is, about the changing of the tides, when the current was still, I used generally to fish, (for at other times it was not practicable,) and I very often succeeded. If I saw a fish upon my hook, my joy was little less than any other person may have found in the accomplishment of the scheme he had most at heart. Such a fish, hastily broiled, or rather half burnt, wiihout sauce, salt, or bread, has afforded me a delicious meal. If I caught none, I might (if I could) sleep away my hunger till the next return of slack water, and then try again. Nor did I suffer less from the inclemency of the weather and the want of clothes. The rainy season was now advancing; my whole suit was a shirt, a pair of trowsers, a cotton hand- kerchief instead of a cap, and a cotton cloth about two yards long, to supply the want of upper garments; and thus

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accoutred, I have been exposed for twenty, thirty, perhaps nearly forty hours together, in incessant rains, accompanied with strong gales of wind, without the least shelter, when my master was on shore. I feel, to this day, some faint re- turns of the violent pains I then contracted. The excessive cold and wet I endured in that voyage, and so soon after I had recovered from a long sickness, quite broke my consti- tution and my spirits. The latter were soon restored ; but the effects of the former still remain with me, as a needful memento of the service and wages of sin.

In about two months we returned, and then the rest of the time I remained with him was chiefly spent at the Plan- tanes, under the same regimen as I have already mentioned. My haughty heart was now brought down; not to a whole- some repentance, nor to the language of the prodigal : this was far from me ; but my spirits were sunk ; I lost all re- solution, and almost all reflection. I had lost the fierceness which fired me on board the Harwich, and which made me capable of the most desperate attempts; but I was no farther changed than a tiger tamed by hunger: remove the occasion, and he will be as wild as ever.

One thing, though strange, is most true. Though destitute of food and clothing, depressed to a degree beyond common wretchedness, I could sometimes collect my mind to mathe- matical studies. 1 had bought Barrow's Euclid at Plymouth ; it was the only volume I brought on shore ; it was always with me, and I used to take it to remote corners of the island, by the sea-side, and drew my diagrams with a long stick upon the sand. Thus I often beguiled my sorrows, and almost forgot my feeling : and thus, without any other as- sistance, I made myself, in a good measure, master of the first six books of Euclid.

LETTER VI.

There is much piety and spirit in the grateful acknow- ledgment of Jacob, " With my staff I passed over this Jordan, and now I am become two bands." These are words which ought to affect me with a peculiar emotion. I remember that some of those mournful days to which my last letter refers, I was busied in planting some lime or

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lemon-trees. The plants I put in the ground were no longer than a young gooseberry-bush: my master and his mistress passing by the place, stopped a while to look at me : at last, " Who knows," says he, " who knows, but by the time these trees grow up and bear, you may go home to England, ob- tain the command of a ship, and return to reap the fruits of your labors? We see strange things sometimes happen." This, as he intended it, was a cutting sarcasm. I believe he thought it full as probable that I should live to be king of Poland. Yet it proved a prediction, and they (one of them at least) lived to see me return from England in the capa- city he had mentioned, and pluck some of the first limes from those very trees. How can I proceed in my relation, till I raise a monument to the Divine Goodness, by compar- ing the circumstances in which the Lord has since placed me with what I was at that time ! Had you seen me, Sir, then go, pensive and solitary, in the dead of night, to wash my one shirt upon the rocks, and afterward put it on wet, that it might dry upon my back while I slept ; had you seen me so poor a figure, that when a ship's boat came to the island shame often constrained me to hide myself in the woods from the sight of strangers: especially had you known that my conduct, principles, and heart, were still darker than my outward condition ; how little would you have imagined that one who so fully answered to the description of the apostle, " hateful, and hating one another ;" was re- served to be so peculiar an instance of the providential care and exuberant goodness of God ! There was, at that time, but one earnest desire in my heart, which was not contrary and shocking both to religion and reason : that one desire, though my vile licentious life rendered me peculiarly un- worthy of success, and though a thousand difficulties seemed to render it impossible, the Lord was pleased to gratify. But this favor, though great, and greatly prized, was a small thing, compared to the blessings of his grace : he spared me, to give me " the knowledge of himself in the person of Jesus Christ." In love to my soul, he delivered me from the pit of corruption, and cast all my aggravated sins behind his back. He brought my feet into the paths of peace. This is, indeed, the chief article, but it is not >he whole. When he made me acceptable to himself in the Beloved, he gave me favor in the sight of others. He raised me new friends, 2*

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protected and guided me through a long series of dangers, and crowned every day with repeated mercies. To him I owe it, that I am still alive, and that I am not still living in hunger, and in thirst, and in nakedness, and the want of all things : into that state I brought myself; but it was He who delivered me. He has given me an easy situation in life, some experimental knowledge of his Gospel, a large acquaint- ance amongst his people, a friendship and correspondence with several of his most honored servants. But it is as diffi- cult to enumerate my present advantages, as it is fully to describe the evils and miseries of the preceding contrast.

I know not exactly how long things continued with me thus, but I believe nearly a twelvemonth. In this interval I wrote two or three times to my father : I gave him an ac- count of my condition, and desired his assistance ; intimat- ing at the same time, that I had resolved not to return to England unless he was pleased to send for me. I have like- wise by me letters written to Mrs. N in that dismal

period : so that at the lowest ebb, it seems, I still retained a hope of seeing her again. My father applied to his friend in Liverpool, of whom I have spoken before; who gave orders accordingly, to a captain of his who was then fit- ting out for Gambia and Sierra Leone.

Some time within the year, as I have said, I obtained my master's consent to live with another trader who dwelt upon the same island. Without his consent I could not be taken ; and he was unwilling to do it sooner; but it was then brought about. This was an alteration much to my advantage : I was soon decently clothed, lived in plenty, was considered as a companion, and trusted with the care of all his domes- tic effects, which were to the amount of some thousand pounds. This man had several factories and white servants in different places ; particularly one in Kittam, the river I spoke of, which runs so nearly along the sea-coast. I was soon appointed to go there, where 1 had a share in the ma- nagement of business jointly with another of his servants. We lived as we pleased, business flourished, and our employer was satisfied. Here I began to he wretch enough to think my- self happy. There is a significant phrase frequently used in those parts, That such a white man is grown black. It does not intend an alteration of complexion, but disposition. I have known several, who, settling in Africa after the age of thirty

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or forty, have, at that time of life, been gradually assimilated to the tempers, customs, and ceremonies of the natives, so far as to prefer that country to England : they have even become dupes to all the pretended charms, necromancies, amulets, and divinations of the blinded negroes, and put more trust in such things than the wiser sort among the natives. A part of this spirit of infatuation was growing upon- me ; (in time, perhaps, I might have yielded to the whole ;) I entered into closer engagements with the inhabitants ; and should have lived and died a wretch amongst them, if the Lord had not watched over me for good. Not that I had lost those ideas which chiefly engaged my heart to England ; but despair of seeing them accomplished made me willing to remain where I was. I thought I could more easiry bear the disappointment in this situation than nearer home. But as soon as I had fixed my connections and plans with these views, the Lord providentially interposed to break them in pieces, and to save me from ruin in spite of myself.

In the mean time the ship that had orders to bring me home arrived at Sierra Leone. The captain made inquiry for me there, and at the Benanoes ; but understanding that I was at a great distance in the country, he thought no more about me. Without doubt, the hand of God directed my being placed at Kittam just at this time; for, as the ship came no nearer than the Benanoes, and staid but a few days, if I had been at the Plantanes I could not perhaps have heard of her till she had sailed. The same must have cer- tainly been the event had I been sent to any other factory, of which my new master had several upon different rivers. But though the place I was at was a long way up a river, much more than a hundred miles distance from the Plantanes, yet, by the peculiar situation which I have already noticed, I was still within a mile of the sea-coast. To make the in- terposition more remarkable, I was at that very juncture going in quest of trade, to a place at some distance directly from the sea ; and should have set out a day or two before, but that we waited for a few articles from the next ship that offered, to complete the assortment of goods I was to take with me. We used sometimes to walk on the beach, in ex- pectation of seeing a vessel pass by ; but this was very pre- carious, as at this time the place was not at all resorted to by ships for trade. Many passed in the night, others kept

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at a considerable distance from the shore. In a word, I do not know that any one had stopped while I was there, though some had before, upon observing a signal made from the shore. In February, 1747, (I know not the exact day,) my fellow-servant walking down on the beach in the forenoon, saw a vessel sailing past, and made a smoke in token of trade. She was already a little beyond the place ; and as the wind was fair the captain was in some demur whether to stop or not. However, had my companion been half an hour later she would have been gone beyond recall ; but he soon saw her come to an anchor, and went on board in a canoe ; and this proved the very ship I have spoken of. One of the first questions he was asked was concerning me ; and when the captain understood I was so near, he came on shore to deliver his message. Had an invitation from home reached me when I was sick and starving at the Plantanes, I should have received it as life from the dead ; but now, for the reasons already given, I heard it at first with indifference. The captain, unwilling to lose me, told a story altogether of his own framing: he gave me a very plausible account how he had missed a large packet of letters and papers which he should have brought with him ; but this he said he was sure of, having had it from my father's own mouth, as well as from his employer, that a person lately dead had left me £400 a year, adding further, that if I was any way embarrassed in my circumstances, he had express orders to redeem me, though it should cost one half of his cargo. Every particular of this was false; nor could I myself believe what he said about the estate ; but as I had some expectation from an aged re- lation, I thought a part of it might be true. But I was not long in suspense ; for though my father's care and desire to see me had too little weight with me, and would have been insufficient to make me quit my retreat ; yet the remem- brance of Mrs. N , the hope of seeing her, and the possi- bility that accepting this offer might once more put me in a way of gaining her hand, prevailed over all other considera- tions. The captain further promised (and in this he kept his word,) that I should lodge in his cabin, dine at his table, and be his constant companion, without expecting any ser- vice from me. And thus I was suddenly freed from a cap- tivity of about fifteen months. I had neither a thought nor a desire of this change one hour before it took place.

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I embarked with him, and in a few hours lost sight of Kittam.

How much is their blindness to be pitied who can see nothing but chance in events of this sort ! So blind and stupid was I at that time, Lmade no reflection, I sought no direction in what had happened : like a wave of the sea, driven with the wind and tossed, I was governed by present appearances, and looked no farther. But He who is eyes to the blind was leading me in a way that I knew not.

Now I am in some measure enlightened, I can easily per- ceive that it is in the adjustment and concurrence of these seemingly fortuitous circumstances, that the ruling power and wisdom of God is most evidently displayed in human affairs. How many such casual events may we remark in the history of Joseph, which had each a necessary influence on his ensuing promotion ! If he had not dreamed, or if he had not told his dream ; if the Midianites had passed by a day sooner, or a day later ; if they had sold him to any person but Potiphar ; if his mistress had been a better woman ; if Pharaoh's officers had not displeased their lord ; or if any, or all these things had fallen out in any other manner or time than they did, all that followed had been prevented ; the promises and purposes of God concerning Israel, their bondage, deliverance, polity, and settlement, must have failed : and as all these things tended to, and centered in Christ, the promised Savior, the desire of all nations, would not have appeared. Mankind had been still in their sins, without hope, and the counsels of God's eternal love in favor of sinners defeated. Thus we may see a con- nection between Joseph's first dream and the death of our Lord Christ, with all its glorious consequences. So strong, though secret, is the concatenation between the greatest and the smallest events. What a comfortable thought is this to a believer — to know that, amidst all the various interfering designs of men, the Lord has one constant design, which he c.innot, will not, miss, namely, h'rs own glory in the com- plete salvation of his people ; and that he is wise, and strong, and faithful, to make even those things which seem contrary to this design, subservient to promote it. You have al- lowed me to comment upon my own text ; yet the length of this observation may need some apology.

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LETTER VII.

The ship I was now on board as a passenger, was on a trading voyage for gold, ivory, dyers' wood, and bees-wax. It requires a long time to collect a cargo of this sort. The captain began his trade at Gambia, had been already four or five months in Africa, and continued there a year, or thereabouts, after I was with him ; in which time we ranged the whole coast as far as Cape Lopez, which lies about a degree south of the equinoctial, and more than a thousand miles farther from England than the place where I em- barked. I have little to offer worthy your notice in the course of this tedious voyage. I had no business to employ my thoughts, but sometimes amused myself with mathema- tics : excepting this, my life, when awake, was a course of most horrid impiety and profaneness. I know not that I have ever since met so daring a blasphemer : not content with common oaths and imprecations, I daily invented new ones; so that I was often seriously reproved by the captain, who was himself a very passionate man, and not at all cir- cumspect in his expressions. From the relation I at times made him of my past adventures, and what he saw of my conduct, and especially toward the close of the voyage, when he met with many disasters, he would often tell me that, to his grief, he had a Jonah on board ; that a curse at- tended me wherever I went ; and that all the troubles he met with in the voyage were owing to his having taken me into the vessel. I shall omit any further particulars, and after mentioning an instance or two of the Lord's mercy to me while I was thus defying his power and patience, I shall proceed to something more worthy your perusal.

Although I lived long in the excess of almost every other extravagance, I never was fond of drinking ; and my father has often been heard to say, that while I avoided drunken- ness, he should still entertain hopes of my recovery. But sometimes I would promote a drinking-bout, for the sake of a frolic, as I termed it ; for though I did not love the liquor, 1 was sold to do iniquity, and delighted in mischief. The last abominable frolic of this sort I engaged in was in the river Gabon : the proposal and expense were my own. Four or five of us one evening sat down upon deck, to see who could hold out longest in drinking geneva and rum alter-

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nately : a large sea-shell supplied the place of a glass. I was very unfit for a challenge of this sort ; for my head was always incapable of bearing much strong drink. However, I began, and proposed the first toast, which I well remember was some imprecation against the person who should start first. This proved to be myself. My brain was soon fired. I arose and danced about the deck like a madman ; and while I was thus diverting my companions my hat went overboard. By the light of the moon I saw the ship's boat, and eagerly threw myself over the side to get into her, that I might recover my hat. My sight in that circumstance deceived me ; for the boat was not within my reach, as I thought, but perhaps twenty feet from the ship's side. I was, however, half overboard, and should in one moment more have plunged myself into the water, when somebody caught hold of my clothes behind, and pulled me back. This was an amazing escape ; for I could not swim if I had been sober ; the tide ran very strong ; my companions were too much intoxicated to save me ; and the rest of the ship's company were asleep. So near was I, to all appearance, of perishing in that dreadful condition, and sinking into eter- nity under the weight of my own curse !

Another time, at Cape Lopez, some of us had been in the woods and shot a buffalo, or wild cow ; we brought a part of it on board, and carefully marked the place (as I thought) where we left the remainder. In the evening we returned to fetch it; but we set out too late. I undertook to be the guide ; but night coming on before we could reach the place, we lost our way. Sometimes we were in swamps, up to the middle in water; and when we recovered dry land, we could not tell whether we were walking toward the ship, or wandering farther from her. Every step increased our uncertainty. The night grew darker, and we were entangled in inextricable woods, where, perhaps, the foot of man had never trod before. That part of the country is entirely abandoned to wild beasts, with which it prodigiously abounds. We were, indeed, in a terrible case ; having neither light, food, nor arms, and expecting a tiger to rush from behind every tree. The stars were clouded, and we had no com- pass to form a judgment which way we were going. Had things continued thus, we had probably perished ; but as it pleased God, no beast came near us ; and after some hours

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perplexity, the ruoon arose, and pointed out the eastern quarter. It appeared then, as we had expected, that, instead of drawing nearer to the sea-side, we had been penetrating into the country ; but by the guidance of the moon we at length came to the water-side, a considerable distance from the ship. We got safe on board without any other inconve- nience than what we suffered from fear and fatigue.

These, and many other deliverances, were all at that time entirely lost upon me. The admonitions of conscience, which, from successive repulses, had grown weaker and weaker, at length entirely ceased ; and for a space of many months, if not for some years, I cannot recollect that I had a single check of that sort. At times I have been visited with sickness, and have believed myself near to death ; but I had not the least concern about the consequences. In a word, I seemed to have every mark of final impenitence and rejection ; neither judgments nor mercies made the least impression on me.

At length, our business finished, we left Cape Lopez, and after a few days stay at the island of Annabona, to lay in provisions, we sailed homeward, about the beginning of January, 1748. From Annabona to England, without touch- ing at any intermediate port, is a very long navigation, perhaps more than seven thousand miles, if we include the circuit necessary to be made on account of the trade-winds. We sailed first westward, till near the coast of Brazil, then northward, to the Banks of Newfoundland, with the usual variations of wind and weather, and without meeting any thing extraordinary. On these Banks we stopped half a day to fish for cod : this was then chiefly for diversion; we had provisions enough, and little expected those fish (as it after- ward proved) would be all we should have to subsist on. We left the Banks March 1, with a hard gale of wind west- erly, which pushed us fast homeward. I should here ob- serve that, with the length of this voyage in a hot climate, the vessel was greatly out of repair, and very unfit to sup- port stormy weather ; the sails and cordage were likewise very much worn, and many such circumstances concurred to render what followed more dangerous. I think it was on the 9th of March, the day before our catastrophe, that I felt a thought pass through my mind which I had long been a stranger to. Among the few books we had on board, one

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was Stanhope's Thomas & Kempis : I carelessly tiok it up, as I had often done before, to pass away the time ; but I had still read it with the same indifference as if it was entirely a romance. However, while I was reading this time, an in voluntary suggestion arose in my mind, What if these things should be true ? I could not bear the force of the inference, as it related to myself, and therefore shut the book presently My conscience witnessed against me once more ; and 1 con- cluded that, true or false, I must abide the consequences of my own choice. I put an abrupt end to these reflections by joining in with some vain conversation or other that came in the way.

But now the Lord's time teas come, and the conviction I was so unwilling to receive was deeply impressed upon me by an awful dispensation. I went to bed that night in my usual security and indifference, but was awakened from a sound sleep by the force of a violent sea which broke on board us. So much of it came down below as filled the cabin I lay in with water. This alarm was followed by a cry from the deck that the ship was going down, or sinking. As soon as I could recover myself I essayed to go upon deck ; but was met upon the ladder by the captain, who de- sired me to bring a knife with me. While I returned for the knife another person went up in my room, who was in- stantly washed overboard. We had no leisure to lament him ; nor did we expect to survive him long ; for we soon found the ship was filling with water very fast. The sea had torn away the upper timbers on one side, and made the ship a mere wreck in a few minutes. I shall not affect to describe this disaster in the marine dialect, which would be understood by few ; and therefore I can give you but a very inadequate idea of it. Taking in all circumstances, it was astonishing, and almost miraculous, that any of us survived to relate the story. We had immediate recourse to the pumps ; but the water increased against all our efforts : some of us were set to bailing in another part of the vessel, that is, to lade it out with buckets and pails. We had but eleven or twelve people to sustain this service ; and, notwithstand- ing all we could do, she was full, or very near it : and then, with a common cargo, she must have sunk of course ; but we had a great quantity of beeswax and wood on board, which were specifically lighter than the water ; and as it pleased

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God that we received this shock in the very crisis of the gale, toward morning we were enabled to employ some means for our safety, which succeeded be)'ond hope. In about an hour's time the day began to break, and the wind abated. We expended most of our clothes and bedding to stop the leaks ; (though the weather was exceedingly cold, especially to us who had so lately left a hot climate ;) over these we nailed pieces of boards, and at last perceived the water abate. At the beginning of this hurry I was little affected. I pumped hard, and endeavored to animate myself and my companions. I told one of them that in a few days this distress would serve us to talk of over a glass of wine : but he being a less hardened sinner than myself, replied with tears, " No, it is too late now." About nine o'clock, being almost spent with cold and labor, I went to speak with the captain, who was busied elsewhere ; and just as I was return- ing from him I said, almost without any meaning, " If this will not do, the Lord have mercy on us." This (though spoken with little reflection) was the first desire I had breathed for mercy for the space of many years. I was in- stantly struck with my own words, and as Jehu said once, What hast thou to do with peace ? so it directly occurred, What mercy can there he for me ? I was obliged to return to the pump, and there I continued till noon, almost every pass ing wave breaking over my head ; but we made ourselves fast with ropes, that we might not be washed away. Indeed, I expected that every time the vessel descended in the sea, she would rise no more ; and though I dreaded death now, and my heart foreboded the worst, if the Scriptures, which I had long since opposed, were indeed true, yet still I was but half-convinced, and remained for a space of time in a sullen frame, a mixture of despair and impatience. I thought if the Christian religion were true I could not be forgiven ; and was therefore expecting, and almost, at times, wi >hing, to know the worst of it.

LETTER VIII.

The 10th (that is, in the present style, the 21st) of March is a day much to be remembered by me; and I have never

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suffered it to pass wholly unnoticed since the year 1748: on that day the Lord sent from on high and delivered me out of deep waters. I continued at the pump from three in the morning till near noon, and then I could do no more. I went and lay down upon my bed, uncertain, and almost indifferent, whether I should rise again. In an hour's time I was called ; and not being able to pump, I went to the helm and steered the ship till midnight, excepting a short interval for refresh- ment. I had here leisure and convenient opportunity for reflection. I began to think of my former religious profes- sions ; the extraordinary turns in my life ; the calls, warn- ings, and deliverances I had met with ; the licentious course of my conversation, particularly my unparalleled effrontery in making the gospel-history (which I could not then be sure was false, though I was not as yet assured it was true) the constant subject of profane ridicule. I thought, allowing the scripture premises, there never was, nor could be, such a sinner as myself ; and then, comparing the advantages I had broken through, I concluded, at first, that my sins were too great to be forgiven. The scripture likewise seemed to say the same ; for I had formerly been well acquainted with the Bible, and many passages, upon this occasion, returned upon my memory, particularly those awful passages, Prov. 1 : 24—31 ; Heb. 6 : 4—6 ; and 2 Pet. 2 : 20, which seemed so exactly to suit my case and character as to bring with them a presumptive proof of a divine original. Thus, as I have said, I waited with fear and impatience to receive my inevitable doom. Yet though I had thoughts of this kind, they were exceedingly faint and disproportionate ; it was not till long after, (perhaps several years,) till I had gained some clear views of the infinite righteousness and grace of Jesus Christ my Lord, that I had a deep and strong appre- hension of my state by nature and practice : and perhaps till then I could not have borne the sight. So wonderfully does the Lord proportion the discoveries of sin and grace ; for he knows our frame, and that if he were to put forth the greatness of his power, a poor sinner would be instantly overwhelmed, and crushed as a moth. But to return : when I saw, beyond all probability, there was still a hope of respite, and heard, about six in the evening, that the ship was freed from water, there arose a gleam of hope ; I thought I saw the hand of God displayed in our favor : I began to pray.

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I could not utter the prayer of faith : I could not draw near to a reconciled God, and call him Father. My prayer was like the cry of the ravens, which yet the Lord does not dis- dain to hear. I now began to think of that Jesus whom I had so often derided ; I recollected the particulars of his lifr, and of his death : a death for sins not his own, but, as I remem- bered, for the sake of those who in their distress should put their trust in Him. And now I chiefly wanted evidence. The comfortless principles of infidelity were deeply riveted, and I rather wished than believed these things were real facts. You will please to observe, Sir, that I collect the strain of the reasonings and exercises of my mind in one view ; but I do not say that all this passed at one time. The great question now was, how to obtain faith ? I speak not of an appropriating faith, (of which I then knew neither the nature nor necessity,) but how I should gain an assur- ance that the Scriptures were of divine inspiration, and a sufficient warrant for the exercise of trust and hope in God. One of the first helps I received (in consequence of a deter- mination to examine the New Testament more carefully) was from Luke, 11:13. I had been sensible that to profess faith in Jesus Christ when in reality I did not believe his history, was no better than a mockery pi the heart-searching God ; but here I found a Spirit spoken of, which was to be communicated to those who ask it. Upon this I reasoned thus : If this book is true, the promise in this passage is true likewise : I have need of that very Spirit by which the whole was written, in order to understand it aright. He has en- gaged here to give that Spirit to those who ask. I must therefore pray for it ; and if it is of God, he will make good his own word. My purposes were strengthened by John 7: 17. I concluded, from thence, that though I could not say from my heart that I believed the Gospel, ):et I would for the present take it for granted, and that by studying it in this light I should be more and more confirmed in it. If what I am writing could be perused by our modern infidels, they would say (for 1 too weH know their manner) that I was very desirous to persuade myself into this opinion. I confess I was ; and so would they be, if the Lord should show them, as he was pleased to show me at that time, the absolute necessity of some expedient to interpose between n righteous God and a sinful soul. Upon the gospel-scheme I

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saw at least a peradvcnture of hope, but on every other side 1 was surrounded with black, unfathomable despair.

The wind was now moderate, but continued fair, and we were still drawing nearer to our port. We began to recover from our consternation, though we were greatly alarmed by our circumstances. We found that the water having floated all our moveables in the hold, all the casks of provision had been beaten to pieces by the violent motion of the ship ; on the other hand, our live stock, such as pigs, sheep, and poultry, had been washed overboard in the storm. In effect, all the provisions we saved, except the fish I mentioned, and some food of the pulse kind, which used to be given to the hogs, (and there was but little of this left,) all our other pro- visions would have subsisted us but a week at scanty allow- ance. The sails, too, were mostly blown away, so that we advanced but slowly even while the wind was fair. We imagined ourselves about a hundred leagues from the land, but were in reality much farther. Thus we proceeded with an alternate prevalence of hopes and fears. My leisure time was chiefly emplo}red in reading and meditating on the scripture, and praying to the Lord for mercy and instruction.

Things continued thus for four or five days, or perhaps longer, till we were awakened one morning by the joyful shouts of the watch upon deck proclaiming the sight of land. We were all soon raised at the sound. The dawning was uncommonly beautiful, and the light (just strong enough to discover distant objects) presented us with a gladdening pros- pect: it seemed a mountainous coast, about twenty miles from us, terminating in a Cape, or point; and a little further, two or three small islands, or hummocks, as just rising out of the water ; the appearance and position seemed exactly answerable to our hopes, resembling the north-west ex- tremity of Ireland, which we were steering for. Wre sincerely congratulated each other, making no doubt but that, if the wind continued, we should be in safety and plenty the next day. We ate up the residue of our bread for joy at this wel- come sight, and were in the condition of men suddenly re- prieved from death. While we were thus alert, the mate, with a graver tone than the rest, sunk our spirits by saying " that he wished it might prove land at last." If one of the common sailors had first said so, I know not but the rest would have beat him for raising such an unreasonable doubt.

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It brought on, however, warm debates and disputes, whether it was land or not ; but the case was soon unanswerably de- cided, for the day was advancing fast, and in a little time one of our fancied islands began to grow red from the ap- proach of the sun, which soon arose just under it. In a word, we had been prodigal of our bread too hastily ; our land was nothing but clouds; and in half an hour more the whole ap- pearance was dissipated. Seamen have often known decep- tions of this sort, but in our extremity we were very loth to be undeceived. However, we comforted ourselves that though we could not see the land yet, we should soon, the wind hitherto continuing fair. But, alas! we were deprived of this hope likewise. That very day our fair wind subsided into a calm, and the next morning the gales sprung up from the south-east, directly against us, and continued so for more than a fortnight afterward. The ship was so wrecked that we were obliged to keep the wind always on the broken side, unless the weather was quite moderate. Thus we were driven, by the wind fixing in that quarter, still further from our port, to the northward of all Ireland, as far as the Lewis, or western islands of Scotland, but a long way to the west- ward. In a word, our station was such as deprived us of any hope of being relieved by other vessels. It may, indeed, be questioned whether our ship was not the very first that had been in that part of the ocean at the same season of the year.

Provisions now began to grow very short: the half of a salted cod was a day's subsistence for twelve people. We had plenty of fresh water", but no bread, hardly any clothes, and very cold weather. We had incessant labor with the pumps to keep the ship above water. Much labor and little food wasted us fast, and one man died under the hardship. Yet our sufferings were light in comparison to our just fears. We could not afford this bare allowance much longer, but had a terrible prospect of being either starved to death, or reduced to feed upon one another. Our expectations grew darker every day ; and I had a further trouble, peculiar to myself. The captain, whose temper was quite soured by distress, was hourly reproaching me (as I formerly observed) as the sole cause of the calamity, and was confident that if I was thrown overboard, and not otherwise, they should be pre- served from death. He did not intend to make the experi- ment; but the continual repetition of this in my ears gave

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mc much uneasiness, especially as my conscience seconded his words; I thought it very probable that all that had be- fallen us was on my account. I was at last found out by the powerful hand of God, and condemned in my own breast. However, proceeding in the method I have described, I be- gan to conceive hopes greater than all my fears ; especially when, at the time we were ready to give up all for lost, and despair was taking place in every countenance, I saw the wind come about to the very point we wished it, so as best to suit that broken part of the ship which must be kept out of the water, and to blow so gentle as our few remaining sails could bear ; and thus it continued, without any observ- able alteration or increase, though at an unsettled time of the year, till we once more were called up to see the land, and were convinced that it was land indeed. We saw the island Tory, and the next day anchored in Lough Swilly, in Ireland. This was the 8th of April, just four weeks after the damage we sustained from the sea. When we came into this port our very last victuals were boiling in the pot ; and before we had been there two hours, the wind, which seemed to have been providentially restrained till we were in a place of safety, began to blow with great violence ; so that, if we had continued at sea that night, in our shattered enfeebled condition, we must, in all human appearance, have gone to the bottom. About this time I began to know that there is a God that hears and answers prayer. How many times has he appeared for me since this great deliverance ! Yet, alas ! how distrustful and ungrateful is my heart unto this hour.

LETTER IX.

I have brought rny history down to the time of my arrival in Ireland, 1748; but before I proceed I would look back a little, to give you some further account of the state of my mind, and how far I was helped against inward difficulties, which beset me at the time I had many outward hardships to struggle with. The straits of hunger, cold, weariness, and the fears of sinking and starving, I shared in common with others : but besides these, I felt a heart-bitterness, which was properly my own ; no one on board but myself being

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impressed with any sense of the hand of God in our danger and deliverance, at least not awakened to any concern for their souls. No temporal dispensations can reach the heart, unless the Lord himself applies them. My companions in danger were either quite unaffected, or soon forgot it all : but it was not so with me ; not that I was any wiser or better than they, but because the Lord was pleased to vouchsafe me peculiar mercy ; otherwise 1 was the most unlikely person in the ship to receive an impression, having been often be- fore quite stupid and hardened in the very face of great dangers, and having always, till this time, hardened my neck still more and more after every reproof. I can see no reason why the Lord singled me out for mere}', but this, " that so it seemed good to him ;" unless it was to show, by one as- tonishing instance, that " with him nothing is impossible."

There were no persons on board to whom I could open myself with freedom concerning the state of my soul, none from whom I could ask advice. As to books, I had a New Testament, Stanhope, already mentioned, and a volume of Bishop Beveridge's Sermons, one of which, upon our Lord's Passion, affected me much. In perusing the New Testament, I was struck with several passages, particularly that of the fig-tree, Luke 13; the case of St. Paul, 1 Tim. 1; but par- ticularly the prodigal, Luke, 15; a case I thought had never been so nearly exemplified as by myself: and then the good- ness of the father in receiving, nay, in running to meet such a son ; and this intended only to illustrate the Lord's goodness to returning sinners : this gained upon me. J continued much in prayer; I saw that the Lord had interposed so Jar to save me ; and I hoped he would do more. The outward circum- stances helped in this place to make me still more serious and earnest in crying to Him who alone could relieve me ; and sometimes I thought I could be content to die even for want of food, if I might but die a believer. Thus far I was answered, that before we arrived in Ireland I had a satisfac- tory evidence in my own own mind of the truth of the gos- pel, as considered in itself, and its exact suitableness to answer all my needs. I saw that, by the way there pointed out, God might declare, not his mercy only, but his justice also, in the pardon of sin, on account of the obedience and sufferings of Jesus Christ. My judgment at that time em- braced the sublime doctrine of "God manifest in the flesh,

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reconciling the world to himself." I had no idea of those systems which allow the Savior no higher honor than that of an upper servant, or, at the most, a demi->;od. I stood in need of an almighty Savior, and such a one I found described in the New Testament. Thus far the Lord had wrought a mar- vellous thing; I was no longer an infidel; I heartily re- nounced my former profaneness ; I had taken up some right notions, was seriously disposed, and sincerely touched with a sense of the undeserved mercy I had received, in being brought safe through so many dangers. I was sorry for my past mispent life, and purposed an immediate reformation : I was quite freed from the habit of swearing, which seemed to have been deeply rooted in me as a second nature. Thus, to all appearance, I was a new man.

But though I cannot doubt that this change, so far as it prevailed, was wrought by the Spirit and power of God ; yet still I was greatly deficient in many respects. I was, in some degree, affected with a sense of my more enormous sins ; but I was little aware of the innate evils of my heart. I had no apprehension of the spirituality and extent of the law of God ; the hidden life of a Christian, as it consists in communion with God by Jesus Christ; and a continual dcpendance on him for hourly supplies of wisdom, strength, and comfort, was a mystery of which I had as yet no knowledge. I ac- knowledged the Lord's mercy in pardoning what was past, but depended chiefly upon my own resolution to do better for the time to come. I had no Christian friend or faithful minister to advise me that my strength was no more than my righteousness ; and though I soon began to inquire for se- rious books, yet, not having spiritual discernment, I frequently made a wrong choice ; and I was not brought in the way of evangelical preaching or conversation (except a few times when I heard but understood not) for six years after this period. Those things the Lord was pleased to discover to me gradually. I learned them here a little and there a little, by my own painful experience, at a distance from the com- mon means and ordinances, and in the midst of the same course of evil company and bad examples as I had been conversant with for some time. From this period I could no more make a mock at sin, or jest with holy things ; I no more questioned the truth of Scripture, or lost a sense of the- rebukes of conscience. Therefore I consider this as the he-

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ginning of my return to God, or rather of his return to me ; but I cannot consider myself to have been a believer (in the full sense of the word) till a considerable time afterward.

I have told you that, in the time of our distress, we had fresh water in abundance. This was a considerable relief to us, especially as our spare diet was mostly salt-fish, without bread ; we drank plentifully, and were not afraid of wanting water ; yet our stock of this likewise was much nearer to an end than we expected ; we supposed that we had six large butts of water on board ; and it was well that we were safe arrived in Ireland before we discovered that five of them were empty, having been removed out of their places, and stove by the violent agitation when the ship was full of water. If we had found this out while we were at sea, it would have greatly heightened our distress, as we must have drunk more sparingly.

While the ship was refitting at Lough Swilly, I repaired to Londonderry. I lodged at an exceedingly good house, where I was treated with much kindness, and soon recruited my health and strength. I was now a serious professor, went twice a-day to the prayers at church, and was, at times, very particular and earnest in my private devotion ; but yet, for want of a better knowledge of myself, and the subtilty of Satan's temptations, I was soon seduced to forget the vows of God that were upon me. One day as I was abroad with the mayor of the city, and some other gentlemen, shooting, I climbed up a steep bank, and pulling my fowling-piece after me, as I held it in a perpendicular direction, it went oflfso near my face as to burn away the corner of my hat. Thus, when we think ourselves in the greatest safety, we are no less exposed to danger than when all the elements seem conspiring to destroy us. The Divine Providence, which is sufficient to deliver us in our utmost extremity, is equally necessary to our preservation in the most peaceful situation.

During our stay in Ireland I wrote home. The vessel I was in had not been heard of for eighteen months, and was given up for lost long before. My father had no more ex- pectation of hearing that I was alive ; but he received my letter a few days before he left London. He was just going Governor of York Fort, in Hudson's Bay, from whence he never returned. He sailed before I landed in England, or

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he had purposed to take me with him ; but God designing otherwise, one liinderance or another delayed us in Ireland until it was too late. I received two or three affectionate letters from him, but I never had the pleasure of seeing him more. I had hopes that, in three years more, I should have had an opportunity of asking his forgiveness for the uneasi- ness my disobedience had given him ; but the ship that was to have brought him home came without him. According to the best accounts we received, he was seized with the cramp when bathing, and drowned, a little before her arrival in the bay. Excuse this digression.

My father, willing to contribute all in his power to my satisfaction, paid a visit, before his departure, to my friends in Kent, and gave his consent to the union which had been

so long talked of. Thus, when I returned to , I found

I had only the consent of one person to obtain ; with her I as yet stood at as great an uncertainty as on the first day I saw her.

I arrived at Liverpool the latter end of May, 1748, about the same day that my father sailed from the Nore ; but found the Lord had provided me another father in the gentleman whose ship had brought me home. He received me with great tenderness, and the strongest expressions of friendship and assistance ; yet no more than he has since made good : for to him, as the instrument of God's goodness, I owe my all. Yet it would not have been in the power even of this friend to have served me effectually, if the Lord had not met with me on my way home, as I have related. Till then I was like the man possessed with the legion. No arguments, no per- suasion, no views of interest, no remembrance of the past, or regard to the future, could have constrained me within the bounds of common prudence. But now I was, in some mea- sure, restored to my senses. My friend immediately offered me the command of a ship; but, upon mature consideration, 1 declined it for the present. I had been hitherto always unsettled and careless ; and therefore thought I had better make another voyage first, and learn to obey, and acquire a further insight and experience in business, before I ventured to undertake such a charge. The mate of the vessel I came home in was preferred to the command of a new ship, and I engaged to go in the station of mate with him. I made a short visit to London, &c, which did not fully answer my

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views. I had but one opportunity of seeing Mrs. N , of

which I availed myself very little ; for I was always exceed- ingly awkward in pleading my own cause in our conversa- tion. But after my return to Liverpool, I put the question in such a manner, by letter, that she could not avoid (unless I had greatly mistaken her) coming to some sort of an ex- planation. Her answer (though penned with abundance of caution) satisfied me ; as I collected from it that she was free from any other engagement, and not unwilling to wait the event of the voyage I had undertaken. I should be ashamed to trouble you with these little details, if you had not yourself desired me.

LETTER X.

My connexions with sea-affairs have often led me to think, that the varieties observable in Christian experience may be properly illustrated from the circumstances of a voy- age. Imagine to yourself a number of vessels, at different times, and from different places, bound to the same port; there are some things in which all these would agree — the compass steered by, the port in view, the general rules of navigation, both as to the management of the vessel and deter- mining their astronomical observations, would be the same in all. In other respects they would differ ; perhaps no two of them would meet with the same distribution of winds and weather. Some we see set out with a prosperous gale ; and when they almost think their passage secured, they are checked by adverse blasts ; and, after enduring much hard- ship and danger, and frequent expectations of shipwreck, they just escape, and reach the desired haven. Others meet the greatest difficulties at first ; they put forth in a storm, and are often beaten back ; at length their voyage proves favorable, and they enter the port with a rich and abundant entrance. Some are hard beset with cruisers and enemies, and obliged to fight their way through ; others meet with little remarkable in their passage. Is it not thus in the spiritual life 1 All true believers walk by the same rule, and mind the same things ; the word of God is their compass ; Jesus is both their polar star and their sun of righteousness ;

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their hearts and faces are all set Sion-ward. Thus far they are as one body, animated by one spirit ; yet their expe- rience, formed upon these common principles, is far from being uniform. The Lord, in his first call, and his follow- ing dispensations, has a regard to the situation, temper, and talents of each, and to the particular services or trials he has appointed them for. Though all are exercised at times, yet some pass through the voyage of life much more smoothly than others. But he " who walketh upon the wings of the wind, and measures the waters in the hollow of his hand," will not suffer an)' of whom he has once taken charge to perish in the storms, though for a season, perhaps, many of them are ready to give up all*hopes.

We must not, therefore, make the experience of others, in all respects, a rule to ourselves, nor our own a rule to others ; yet these are common mistakes, and productive of many more. As to myself, every part of my case has been extraordinary. I have hardly met a single instance resem- bling it. Few, very few, have been recovered from such a dreadful state ; and the few that have been thus favored have generally passed through the most severe convictions ; and after the Lord has given them peace, their future lives have been usually more zealous, bright, and exemplary than common. Now, as on the one hand, my convictions were very moderate, and far below what might have been expect- ed from the dreadful review I had to make ; so, on the ether, my first beginnings in a religious course were as faint as can be well imagined. I never knew that season alluded to, Jer. 2:2; Rev. 2 : 4, usually called the time of the first love. Who would not expect to hear that, after such a won- derful unhoped-for deliverance as I had received, and after my eyes were in some measure enlightened to see things aright, I should immediately cleave to the Lord and his ways with full purpose of heart, and consult no more with flesh and blood? But, alas! it was far otherwise with me. I had learned to pray ; I set some value upon the word of God, and was no longer a libertine : but my soul still cleaved to the dust. Soon after my departure from Liverpool I be- gan to intermit, and grow slack in waiting upon the Lord ; 1 grew vain and trifling in my conversation ; and though my heart smote me often, yet my armor was gone, and I de- clined fast ; and by the time I arrived at Guinea I seemed

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to have forgot all the Lord's mercies, and my own engage- ments, and was (profaneness excepted) almost as bad as be- fore. The enemy prepared a train of temptations, and I became his easy prey ; and, for about a month, he lulled me asleep in a course of evil, of which, a few months before, I could not have supposed myself any longer capable. How much propriety is there in the apostle's advice, " Take heed, lest any of you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin !" O, who can be sufficiently upon their guard ! Sin first de- ceives, and then it hardens. I was now fast bound in chains ; 1 had little desire, and no power at all, to recover myself. I could not but at times reflect how it was with me ; but if I attempted to struggle with it, it was in vain. I was just like Samson when he said, " I will go forth and shake my- self as at other times ;" but the Lord was departed, and he found himself helpless in the hands of his enemies. By the remembrance of this interval, the Lord has often instructed me since, what a poor creature I am in myself, incapable of standing a single hour without continual fresh supplies of strength and grace from the fountain-head.

At length the Lord, whose mercies are infinite, interposed in my behalf. My business in this voyage, while upon the coast, was to sail from place to place in the long-boat, to purchase slaves. The ship was at Sierra Leone, and I then at the Plantanes, the scene of my former captivity, where every thing I saw might seem to remind me of my ingrati- tude. I was in easy circumstances, courted by those who formerly despised me : the lime-trees 1 had planted were growing tall, and promised fruit the following year ; against which time I had expectations of returning with a ship of my own. But none of these things affected me, till, as I have said, the Lord again interposed to save me. He visited me with a violent fever, which broke the fatal chain, and once more brought me to myself. But, O what a prospect ! I thought myself now summoned away. My past dangers and deliverances, my earnest prayers in the time of trouble, my solemn vows before the Lord, and my ungrateful returns for all his goodness, were all present to my mind at once. Then I began to wish that the Lord had suffered me to sink into the ocean when I first besought his mercy. For a little while I concluded the door of hope to be quite shut ; but this rontinued not long. Weak, and almost delirious, I arose

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from my bed, and crept to a retired part of the island ; and here I found a renewed liberty to pray. I durst make no more resolves, but cast myself before the Lord, to do with me as he should please. I do not remember that any parti- cular text or remarkable discovery was presented to my mind ; but, in general, I was enabled to hope and believe in a crucified Savior. The burden was removed from my conscience, and not only my peace but my health was re- stored ; I cannot say instantaneously ; but I recovered from that hour; and so fast that when I returned to the ship, two days afterward, I was perfectly well before I got on board. And from that time, I trust, I have been delivered from the power and dominion of sin ; though, as to the effects and con- flicts of sin dwelling in me, I still " groan, being burdened." I now began again to wait upon the Lord ; and though I have often grieved his Spirit, and foolishly wandered from him since, (when, alas, shall I be more wise !) yet his powerful grace has hitherto preserved me from such black declensions as this I have last recorded: and I humbly trust in his mercy and promises, that he will be my guide and guard to the end.

My leisure hours in this voyage were chiefly employed in learning the Latin language, which I had now entirely forgot. This desire took place from an imitation I had seen of one of Horace's odes in a magazine I began the attempt under the greatest disadvantages possible ; for I pitched upon a poet, perhaps the most difficult of the poets, even Horace himself, for my first book. I had picked up an old English translation of him, which, with Castalio's Latin Bible, were all my help. I forgot a Dictionary, but I would not there- fore give up my purpose. I had the edition in usum Delphini; and, by comparing the odes with the interpretation, and tracing the words, I could understand from one place to an- other by the index, with the assistance I could get from the Latin Bible : in this way, by dint of hard industry, often waking when I might have slept, I made some progress be- fore I returned, and not only understood the sense and meaning of many odes, and some of the Epistles, but began to relish the beauties of the composition, and acquired a spice of what Mr. Law calls classical enthusiasm. And indeed, by this means, I had Horace more in my mind than some who are masters of the Latin tongue ; for my helps were so few, that I generally had the passage fixed in my memory before I could fully understand its meaning.

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My business in the long-boat, during the eight months we were upon the Coast, exposed me to innumerable dan- gers and perils, from burning suns and chilling dews, winds, rains, and thunder-storms, in the open boat ; and on shore, from long journeys through the woods, and the temper of the natives, who are in many places cruel, treacherous, and watching opportunities for mischief. Several boats in the same time were cut off, several white men poisoned, and in my own boat, I buried six or seven people with fevers. When going on shore, or returning from it, in their little canoes, I have been more than once or twice overset by the violence of the surf, or breach of the sea, and brought to land half-dead (for I could not swim.) An account of such escapes as I still remember, would swell to several sheets, and many more I have perhaps forgot : I shall only select one instance, as a specimen of that wonderful providence which watched over me for rood, and which, I doubt not, you will think worthy of notice.

When our trade was finished, and we were near sailing to the West Indies, the only remaining service I had to per- form in the boat, was to assist in bringing the wood and wa- ter from the shore. We were then at Rio Cestors. I used to go into the river in the afternoon with the sea-breeze, procure my loading in tho evening, and return on board in the morning with the land-wind. Several of these little voyages I had made ; but the boat was become old, and al- most unfit for use. This service likewise was almost com- pleted. One day, having dined on board, I was preparing to return to the river as formerly : I had taken leave of the captain, received his orders, was ready in the boat, and just going to put off, as we term it? that is, to let go our ropes, and sail from the ship. In that instant the captain came up from the cabin, and called me on board again. I went, expecting further orders; but he said, that he took it in his head (as he phrased it) that I should remain that day in the ship ; and accordingly ordered another man to go in my room. I was surprised at this, as the boat had never been sent away without me before, and asked him the rea- son ; he could give me no reason but as above, that so he would have it. Accordingly the boat went without me ; but returned no more : she sunk that night in the river, and the person who had supplied my place was drowned. I was

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much struck when we received news of the event the next morning. The captain himself, though quite a stranger to religion, so far as to deny a particular providence, could not help being affected ; but he declared that he had no other reason for countermanding me at that time, but that it came suddenly into his mind to detain me.

LETTER XI.

A few days after I was thus wonderfully saved from an unforeseen danger, we sailed for Antigua, and from thence proceeded to Charleston, in South Carolina. In this place there are many serious people ; but I knew not where to find them out : indeed I was not aware of a difference, but supposed that all who attended public worship were good Christians. I was as much in the dark about preaching, not doubting but whatever came from the pulpit must be very good. I had two or three opportunities of hearing a dissent- ing minister, named Smith, who, by what I have known since, I believe to have been an excellent and powerful preacher of the Gospel ; and there was something in his manner that struck me, but I did not rightly understand him. The best words that men can speak are ineffectual till explained and applied by the Spirit of God, who alone can open the heart. It pleased the Lord, for some time, that I should learn no more than what he enabled me to col- lect from my own experience and reflection. My conduct was now very inconsistent. Almost every day, when busi- ness would permit, I used to retire into the woods and fields (for these, when at hand, have always been my favorite oratories,) and I trust I began to taste the sweets of com- munion with God in the exercises of prayer and praise; and yet I frequently spent the evenings in vain and worth- less company. Indeed my relish for worldly diversions was much weakened, and I was rather a spectator than a sharer in their pleasures : but I did not as yet see the necessity of an absolute forbearance. Yet as my compliance with cus- tom and company was chiefly owing to want of light, rather than to an obstinate attachment, and the Lord was pleased to preserve me, in some good degree, I trust, from what I

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knew was sinful, I had, for the most part, peace of conscience, and my strongest desires were toward the things of God. As yet I knew not the force of that precept, " Abstain from all appearance of evil ;" but very often ventured upon the brink of temptation ; but the Lord was gracious to my weak- ness, and would not suffer the enemy to prevail against me. I did not break with the world at once, (as might in my case have been expected) but I was gradually led to see the inconvenience and folly of one thing after another ; and when I saw it, the Lord strengthened me to give it up. But it was some years before I was set quite at liberty from oc- casional compliances in many things, in which at this time I durst by no means allow myself.

We finished our voyage, and arrived in Liverpool. "When the ship's affairs were settled, I went to London, and from thence (as you may suppose) I soon repaired to Kent. More than seven years had now elapsed since my first visit. No views of the kind could seem more chimerical, or could subsist under greater discouragements than mine had done ; yet, through the overruling goodness of God, while I seemed abandoned to myself, and blindly following my own head- strong passions, I was guided by a hand that 1 knew not, to the accomplishment of my wishes. Every obstacle was now removed. I had renounced my former follies, my interest was established, and friends on all sides consenting, the point was now entirely between ourselves ; and after what had passed, was easily concluded. Accordingly our hands were joined on the 1st of February, 1750.

The satisfaction I have found in this union, you will sup- pose has been greatly heightened by reflection on the former disagreeable contrasts I had passed through, and the views I have had of the singular mercy and providence of the Lord in bringing it to pass. If you please to look back to the beginning of my sixth letter, I doubt not but you will allow, that few persons have known more, either of the mi- sery or happiness of which human life (as considered in it- self) is capable. How easily, at a time of life when I was so little capable of judging, (but a few months more than seventeen,) might my affections have been fixed where they could have met with no return, or where success would have been the heaviest disappointment. The long delay I met with was likewise a mercy ; for had I succeeded a year or

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two sooner, before the Lord was pleased to change my heart, we must have been mutually unhappy, even as to the pre- sent life. " Surely mercy and goodness have followed me all my days !"

But, alas ! I soon began to feel that my heart was still hard and ungrateful to the God of my life. This crowning mercy, which raised me to all I could ask or wish in a tem- poral view, and which ought to have been an animating mo- tive to obedience and praise, had a contrary effect. I rested in the gift, and forgot the Giver. My poor narrow heart was satisfied. A cold and careless frame, as to spiritual things, took place, and gained ground daily. Happily for me the season was advancing, and in June I received orders to re- pair to Liverpool. This roused me from my dream. I need not tell you that 1 found the pains of absence and sepa- ration fully proportioned to my preceding pleasure. It was hard, very hard, to part, especially as conscience interfered, and suggested to me how little I deserved that we should be spared to meet again. But the Lord supported me. I was a poor, faint, idolatrous creature ; but I had now some ac- quaintance with the way of access to a throne of grace by the blood of Jesus ; and peace was soon restored to my conscience. Yet, through all the following voyage, my irre- gular and excessive affections were as thorns in my eyes, and often made my other blessings tasteless and insipid. But He who doth all things well over-ruled this likewise for good. It became an occasion of quickening me in prayer both for my wife and myself; it increased my indifference for company and amusement ; it habituated me to a kind of voluntary self-denial, which I was afterward taught to im- prove to a better purpose.

While I remained in England we corresponded every post ; and all the while I used the sea afterward, I constant- ly kept up the practice of writing two or three times a-week, (if weather and business permitted,) though no conveyance homeward offered for six or eight months together. My packets were usually heavy ; and as not one of them at any time miscarried, I have to the amount of nearly 200 sheets of paper now lying in my bureau of that correspondence. I mention this little relief by which I contrived to soften the intervals of absence, because it had a good effect beyond my first intention. It habituated me to think and write upon

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a great variety of subjects ; and I acquired, insensibly, a greater readiness of expressing myself than I should other- wise have attained. As I gained more ground in religious knowledge, my letters became more serious ; and, at times, I still find an advantage in looking them over; especially as they remind me of many providential incidents, and the state of my mind at different periods in these voyages, which would otherwise have escaped my memory.

I sailed from Liverpool in August, 1750, commander of a good ship. I have no very extraordinary events to re- count from this period, and shall therefore contract my me- moirs, lest I become tedious : yet I am willing to give you a brief sketch of my history down to 1755, the year of my settlement in my present situation. I had now the com- mand and care of thirty persons; I endeavored to treat them with humanity, and to set them a good example : I likewise established public worship, twice every Lord's-day, officiating myself. Farther than this I did not proceed while I continued in that emplo3'ment.

Having now much leisure, I prosecuted the study of the Latin with good success. I took a dictionary this voyage, and procured two or three other books ; but still it was my hap to choose the hardest. 1 added Juvenal to Horace ; and, for prose authors, I pitched upon Livy, Cfesar, and Sallust. You will easily conceive, Sir, that I had hard work to begin (where I should have left off) with Horace and Livy. I was not aware of the difference of style : I had heard Livy highly commended, and was resolved to understand him. I began with the first page, and laid down a rule, which I seldom departed from, not to proceed to a second period till I understood the first, and so on. I was often at a stand, but seldom discouraged : here and there I found a few lines quite obstinate, and was forced to break in upon my rule, and give them up, especially as my edition had only the text, without any notes to assist me. But there were not many such ; for before the close of that voyage I could (with a few exceptions) read Livy from end to end, almost as readily as an English author. And I found, in surmount- ing this difficulty, I had surmounted all in one. Other prose authors, when they came in my way, cost me little trouble. In short, in the space of two or three voyages I became to- lerably acquainted with the best classics ; (I put all I have to

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say upon this subject together ;) I read Terence, Virgil, and several pieces of Cicero, and the modern classics, Buchanan, Erasmus, and Cassimir. At length I conceived a design of becoming a Ciceronian myself, and thought it would be a fine thing indeed to write pure and elegant Latin. I made some essays toward it, but by this time the Lord was pleased to draw me nearer to himself, and to give me a fuller view of the " pearl of great price," the inestimable treasure hid in the field of the Holy Scriptures ; and, for the sake of this, I was made willing to part with all my newly-acquired riches. 1 began to think that life was too short (especially my life) to admit of leisure for such elaborate trifling. Neither poet nor historian could tell me a word of Jesus, and I therefore applied myself to those who could. The classics were at first restrained to one morning in the week, and at length quite laid aside. I have not looked into Livy these five years, and I suppose I could not now well understand him. Some passages in Horace and Virgil I still admire ; but they seldom come in my way. I prefer Buchanan's Psalms to a whole shelf of Elzevirs. But this much I have gained — and more than this I am not solicitous about — so much of the Latin as enables me to read any useful or curious book that is published in that language. About the same time, and for the same reason, that I quarrelled with Livy, I laid aside the mathematics. I found they not only cost me much time, but engrossed my thoughts too far; my head was literally full of schemes. I was weary of cold, contemplative truths, which can neither warm nor amend the heart, but rather tend to aggrandize self. I found no traces of this wisdom in the life of Jesus or the writings of Paul. I do not regret that- I have had some opportunities of knowing the first principles of these things ; but I see much cause to praise the Lord that he inclined me to stop in time; and, whilst I was " spending my labour for that which is not bread," was pleased to set be- fore me " wine and milk, without money and without price."

My first voyage was fourteen months, through various scenes of danger and difficulty, but nothing very remarkable ; and as I intend to be more particular with rqgard to the second, I shall only say, that I was preserved from every harm ; and having seen many fall on my right hand and on my left, I was brought home in peace, and restored to where my thoughts had been often directed, November 2, 1751.

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LETTER XII.

I almost wish I could recall my last sheet, and retract my promise. I fear I have engaged too far, and shall prove a mere Egotist. Whcit have I more that can deserve your notice'? However, it is some satisfaction that I am now writing to yourself only ; and I believe you will have can- dor to excuse what nothing but a sense of your kindness could extort from me.

Soon after the period where my last closes, that is, in the interval between my first and second voyage after my marriage, I began to keep a sort of diary ; a practice which I have since found of great use. I had in this interval re- peated proofs of the ingratitude and evil of my heart. A life of ease in the midst of my friends, and the full satisfaction of my wishes, was not favorable to the progress of grace, and afforded cause of daily humiliation. Yet, upon the whole, I gained ground. I became acquainted with books which gave me a farther view of Christian doctrine and ex- perience ; particularly, ScougaWs Life of God in the Sovl of Man, Hervey's Meditations, and the Life of Colonel Gar- diner. As to preaching, I heard none but the common sort, and had hardly an idea of any better ; neither had I the ad- vantage of Christian acquaintance. I was likewise greatly hindered by a cowardly reserved spirit ; I was afraid of be- ing thought precise ; and though I could not live without prayer, I durst not propose it even to my wife, till she her- self first put me upon it ; so far was I from those expres- sions of zeal and love which seem so suitable to the case of one who has had much forgiven. In a few months the re- turning season called me abroad again, and I sailed from Liverpool in a new ship, July, 1752.

A seafaring life is necessarily excluded from the benefit of public ordinances and Christian communion : but, as I have observed, my loss upon these heads was at this time but small. In other respects, I know not any calling that seems more favorable, or affords greater advantages to an awakened mind, for promoting the life of God in the soul : especially to a person who has the command of a ship, and thereby has it in his power to restrain gross irregularities in others, and to dispose of his own time ; and still more so in African voyages, as these ships carry a double proportion

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of men and officers to most others, which made my depart- ment very easy ; and, excepting the hurry of trade, &c^ upon the coast, which is rather occasional than constant, afforded me abundance of leisure. To be at sea in these circumstances, withdrawn out of the reach of innumerable temptations, with opportunity and turn of mind disposed to observe the wonders of God in the great deep ; with the two noblest objects of sight, the expanded heavens, and the ex- panded ocean, continually in view ; and where evident in- terpositions of Divine Providence, in answer to prayer, occur almost every day; these are helps to quicken and confirm the life of faith, which, in a good measure, supply to a religious sailor the want of those advantages which can be enjoyed only upon the shore. And, indeed, though my knowledge of spiritual things, as knowledge is usually esti- mated, was at this time very small, yet I sometimes look back with regret upon these scenes. I never knew sweeter or more frequent hours of divine communion than in my last two voyages to Guinea, when I was either almost secluded from society on shipboard, or when on shore amongst the natives. I have wandered through the woods, reflecting on the singular goodness of the Lord to me, in a place where, perhaps, there was not a person that knew him for some thousand miles round me. Many a time, upon these occa- sions, I have restored the beautiful lines of Propcrtius to their right owner; lines full of blasphemy and madness when addressed to a creature, but full of comfort and propriety in the mouth of a believer.

Sic ego desertis possim bene vivere sylvls, Q,uo nulla humano sit via trita pede: Tu mibi curarum requies, in nocte vel atra Lumen, et in solis tu mini turba locis.

PARAPHRASED.

In desert woods, with thee, my God, Where human footsteps never trod,

How happy could I be ; Thou my repose from care, my light Amidst the darkness of the night, In solitude my company.

In the course of this voyage I was wonderfully preserved in the midst of many obvious and many unforeseen dangers.

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At one time there was a conspiracy amongst my own people to turn pirates, and take the ship from me. When the plot was nearly ripe, and they waited only a convenient oppor- tunity, two of those concerned in it were taken ill in one day : one of them died, and he was the only person I buried while on board. This suspended the affair, and opened a way to its discovery, or the consequence might have been fatal. The slaves on board were likewise frequently plotting in- surrections, and were sometimes upon the very brink of mischief; but it was always disclosed in due time. When I have thought myself most secure, I have been suddenly alarmed with danger ; and when I have almost despaired of life, as sudden a deliverance has been vouchsafed me. My stay upon the coast was long, the trade very precarious ; and, in pursuit of my business, both on board and on shore, I was in deaths often. Let the following instance serve as a specimen :

I was at a place called Mana, near Cape Mount, where I had transacted very large concerns ; and had, at the time I am speaking of, some debts and accounts to settle which required my attendance on shore, and I intended to go the next morning. When I arose I left the ship, according to my purpose, but when I came near the shore, the surf, or breach of the sea, ran so high that I was almost afraid to attempt landing: indeed I had often ventured at a worse time ; but I felt an inward hinderance and backwardness, which I could not account for : the surf furnished a pretext for indulging it ; and after waiting and hesitating for about half an hour, I returned to the ship, without doing my busi- ness ; which I think I never did but that morning in all the time I used that trade. But I soon perceived the reason of all this : It seems, the day before I intended to land, a scan- dalous and groundless charge had been laid against me, (by whose instigation I could never learn,) which greatly threat- ened my honor and interest, both in Africa and England, and would, perhaps, humanly speaking, have affected my life, if I had landed according to my intention. I shall, perhaps, inclose a letter which will give a full account of this strange adventure ; and therefore shall say no more of it here, any further than to tell you that an attempt, aimed to destroy either my life or character, and which might, very probably, in its consequences, have ruined my voyage,

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passed off without the least inconvenience. The person most concerned owed me about a hundred pounds, which he sent me in a huff ; and otherwise, perhaps, would not have paid me at all. 1 was very uneasy tor a few hours, but was soon afterward comforted. I heard no more of my accusation till the next voyage; and then it was publicly acknowledged to be a malicious calumny, without the least shadow of a ground.

Such were the vicissitudes and difficulties through which the Lord preserved me. Now and then both faith and pa- tience were sharply exercised ; but suitable strength was given ; and as such things did not occur every day, the study of the Latin, of which I gave a general account in my last, was renewed, and carried on from time to time when busi- ness would permit. I was mostly very regular in the ma- nagement of my time ; I allotted eight hours for sleep and meals, eight hours for exercise and devotion, and eight hours to my books: and thus, by diversifying my engagements, the whole day was agreeably filled up ; and I seldom found a day too long, or an hour to spare. My studies kept me employed ; and so far it was well ; otherwise they were hardly worth the time they cost, as they led me to an ad- miration of false models and false maxims ; an almost un- avoidable consequence (I suppose) of an admiration of classic authors. Abating what I have attained of the language, I think I might have read Cassandra or Cleopatra to as good purpose as I read Livy, whom I now account an equal romancer, though in a different way.

From the coast I went to St. Christopher's ; and here my idolatrous heart was its own punishment. The letters I ex- pected from Mrs. Newton were by mistake forwarded to Antigua, which had been at first proposed as our port. As I was certain of her punctuality in writing, if alive, I con- cluded, by not hearing from her, that she was surely dead. This fear affected me more and more ; I lost my appetite and rest ; I felt an incessant pain in my stomach ; and in about three weeks time I was near sinking under the weight of an imaginary stroke. 1 felt some severe symptoms of that mixture of pride and madness which is commonly called a broken heart ; and indeed I wonder that this case is not more common than it appears to be. How often do the potsherds of the earth presume to contend with their Maker.'

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and what a wonder of mercy is it that they are not all broken! However, my complaint was not all grief; con- science had a share. I thought my unfaithfulness to God had deprived me of her, especially my backwardness in speaking of spiritual things, which I could hardly attempt, even to her. It was this thought, that I had lost invaluable, irrecoverable opportunities, which both duty and affection should have engaged me to improve, that chiefly stung me ; and I thought I would have given the world to know that she was living, that I might at least discharge my engage- ments by writing, though I was never to see her again. This was a sharp lesson ; but I hope it did me good ; and when I had thus suffered some weeks, I thought of sending a small vessel to Antigua. I did so ; and she brought me several packets; which restored my health and peace, and gave me a strong contrast of the Lord's goodness to me, and my unbelief and ingratitude toward him.

In August, 1753, I returned to Liverpool. My stay was very short at home that voyage — only six weeks. In that space nothing very memorable occurred ; I shall therefore begin my next with an account of my third and last voyage. And thus I give both you and myself hopes of a speedy period to these memoirs, which begin to be tedious and minute, even to myself ; only I am animated by the thought that I write at your request ; and have therefore an oppor- tunity of showing myself Yours, &c.

LETTER XIII.

My third voyage was shorter and less perplexed than either of my former. Before I sailed I met with a young man who had formerly been a midshipman, and my intimate companion on board the Harwich. He was, at the time I first knew him, a sober youth ; but I had found too much success in my unhappy attempts to infect him with libertine principles. When we met at Liverpool, our acquaintance was renewed upon the ground of our former intimacy. He had good sense, and had read many good books. Our con- versation frequently turned upon religion ; and I was very desirous to repair the mischief I had done him. I gave him

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a plain account of the manner and reason of my change, and used every argument to persuade him to relinquish his infidel- schemes ; and when I sometimes pressed him so close that he had no other reply to make, he would remind mc that I was the very first person who had given^him an idea of his liberty. This occasioned me many mournful re- flections. He was then going master to Guinea himself; but before his ship was ready his merchant became a bank- rupt, which disconcerted his voyage. As he had no farther expectations for that year, I offered to take him with me as a companion, that he might gain a knowledge of the coast; and the gentleman who employed me promised to provide for him upon his return. My view in this was not so much to serve him in his business, as to have an opportunity of debating the point with him at leisure ; and I hoped, in the course of my voyage, my arguments, example, and prayers, might have some good effect on him. My intention in this step was better than my judgment; and I had frequent reason to repent it. He was exceedingly profane, and grew worse and worse. I saw in him a most livelv picture of what I had once been ; but it was very inconvenient to have it always before my eyes. Besides, he was not only deaf to my remonstrances himself, but labored all he could to counteract my influence upon others. His spirit and pas- sions were likewise exceedingly high; so that it required all my prudence and authority to hold him in any degree of re- straint. He was as a sharp thorn in my side for some time ; but at length I had an opportunity upon the coast of buying a small vessel, which I supplied with a cargo from my own, and gave him the command, and sent him away to trade on the ship's account. When we parted, I repeated and en- forced my best advice. I believe his friendship and regard were as great as could be expected, when our principles were so diametrically opposite. He seemed greatly affected when I left him: but my words had no weight with him; when he found himself at liberty from under my eye, he gave a hasty loose to every appetite ; and his violent irre- gularities, joined to the heat of the climate, soon threw hirn into a malignant fever, which carried him off in a few days. He died convinced, but not changed. The accounts I had from those who were with him were dreadful. His rage and despair struck them all with horror ; and he pronounced his

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own fatal doom before he expired, without any appearance that he either hoped or asked for mercy. I thought this awful contrast might not be improper to give you, as a stronger view of the distinguishing goodness of God to me, the chief of sinners.

I left the coast in about four months, and sailed for St. Christopher's. Hitherto I had enjoyed a perfect state of health, equally in every climate, for several years ; but upon this passage I was visited with a fever, which gave me a very near prospect of eternity. I have obtained liberty to inclose you three or four letters, which will more clearly illustrate the state and measure of my experience at different times, than any thing I can say at present. One of them, you will find, was written at this period, when I could hardly hold a pen, and had some reason to believe I should write no more. I had not that " full assurance" which is so de- sirable at a time when flesh and heart fail ; but my hopes were greater than my fears; and I felt a silent composure of spirit, which enabled me to wait the event without much anxiety. My trust, though weak in degree, was alone fixed upon the blood and righteousness of Jesus ; and those words, " He is able to save to the uttermost," gave me great relief. I was for a while troubled with a very singular thought ; whether it was a temptation, or that the fever disordered my faculties, I cannot say; but I seemed not so much afraid of wrath and punishment, as of being lost and overlooked amidst the myriads that are continually entering the unseen world. What is my soul, thought I, amongst such an innu- merable multitude of beings? and this troubled me greatly. Perhaps the Lord will take no notice of me. I was per- plexed thus for some time ; but at last a text of Scripture, very apposite to the case, occurred to my mind, and put an end to the doubt. " The Lord knoweth them that are his." In about ten days, beyond the hope of those about me, I began to amend ; and by the time of our arrival in the West- Indies I was perfectly recovered. I hope this visitation was made useful to me.

Thus far, that is, for about the space of six years, the Lord was pleased to lead me in a secret way. I had learned some- thing of the evil of my heart ; I had read the Bible over and over, with several good books, and had a general view of gospel-truths; but my conceptions were, in many respects,

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confused, not having in all this time met with one acquaint- ance who could assist my inquiries. But upon my arrival at St. Christopher's, on this voyage, I found a captain of a ship from London whose conversation was greatly helpful to me. He was and is a member of Mr. Brewer's church, a man of experience in the things of God, and of a lively communicative turn. We discovered each other by some casual expressions in mixed company, and soon became, so far as business would permit, inseparable. For nearly a month we spent every evening together on board each other's ship alternately, and often prolonged our visits till toward day-break. I was all ear; and, what was better, he not only informed my understanding, but his discourse in- flamed my heart. He encouraged me to open my mouth in social prayer; he taught me the advantage of Christian con- verse ; he put me upon an attempt to make my profession more public, and to venture to speak for God. From him, or rather from the Lord by his means, I received an increase of knowledge: my conceptions became clearer and more evangelical ; and I was delivered from a fear which had long troubled me — the fear of relapsing into my former apostacv. But now I began to understand the security of the covenant of grace, and to expect to be preserved, not by my own power and holiness, but by the mighty power and promise of God, through faith in an unchangeable Savior. He like- wise gave me a general view of the state of religion, with the errors and controversies of the times, (things to which I had been entirely a stranger,) and finally directed me where to apply in London for. further instruction. With these newly-acquired advantages, I left him, and my passage homeward gave me leisure to digest what I had received. I had much comfort and freedom during those seven weeks, and my sun was seldom clouded. I arrived safely in Liver- pool, August, 1754.

My stay at home was intended to be but short ; and by the beginning of November I was again ready for the sea ; but the Lord saw fit to over-rule my design. During the time I was engaged in the slave-trade, 1 never had the least scruple as to its lawfulness. I was, upon the whole, satisfied with it, as the appointment Providence had marked out for me; yet it was, in many respects, far from eligible. It was, Indeed, accounted a genteel employment, and usually very

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profitable, though to me it did not prove so, the Lord see- ing that a large increase of wealth would not be good for me. However, I considered myself as a sort of gaoler or turnkey, and I was sometimes shocked with an employment that was perpetually conversant with chains, bolts, and shackles. In this view I had often petitioned, in my prayers, that the Lord, in his own time, would be pleased to fix me in a more humane calling, and, if it might be, place me where I might have more frequent converse with his people and ordinances, and be freed from those long separations from home, which very often were hard to bear. My prayers were now answered, though in a way I little expected. I now experienced another sudden, unforeseen change of life. I was within two days of sailing, and, to all appearance, in as good health as usual ; but in the afternoon, as I was sitting with Mrs. Newton, drinking tea by ourselves, and talking over past events, I was in a moment seized with a fit which deprived me of sense and motion, and left me no other sign of life than that of breathing. I suppose it was of the apo- plectic kind. It lasted about an hour ; and when I reco- vered, it left a pain and dizziness in my head, which con- tinued, with such symptoms as induced the physicians to judge it would not be safe or prudent for me to proceed on the voyage. Accordingly, by the advice of my friend to whom the ship belonged, I resigned the command the day before she sailed ; and thus I was unexpectedly called from that service, and freed from a share of the future conse- quences of that voyage, which proved extremely calamitous. The person who went in my room, most of the officers, and many of the crew died, and the vessel was brought home with great difficulty.

As I was now disengaged from business, I left Liverpool, and spent most of the following year at London and in Kent. But I entered upon a new trial. You will easily conceive that Mrs. Newton was not an unconcerned specta- tor when I lay extended, and, as she thought, expiring, upon the ground. In effect, the blow that struck me reached her in the same instant : she did not indeed immediately feel it, till her apprehensions on my account began to sub- side ; but as I grew better, she became worse : her surprise threw her into a disorder which no physicians could define, or medicines remove. Without any of the ordinary symp-

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tonis of a consumption, she decayed almost visibly, till she became so weak that she could hardly bear any one to walk across the room she was in. I was placed, lor about eleven months, in what Dr. Young calls the

dreadful post of observation,

Darker every hour.

It was not till after my settlement at Liverpool that the Lord was pleased to restore her by his own hand, when all hopes from ordinary means were at an end. But before this took place I have some other particulars to mention, which must be the subject of the following sheet, which I hope will be the last on this subject from, &c.

LETTER XIV.

By the directions I had received from my friend at St. Kitt's, I soon found out a religious acquaintance in London. I first applied to Mr. Brewer, and chiefly attended upon his ministry when in town. From him I received many helps, both in public and private; for he was pleased to favor me with his friendship from the first. His kindness and the in- timacy between us has continued and increased to this day ; and of all my many friends, I am most deeply indebted to

him. The late Mr. II d was my second acquaintance, a

man of a choice spirit, and an abundant zeal for the Lord's service. I enjoyed his correspondence till near the time of his death. Soon after, upon Mr. Whitefield's return from America, my two good friends introduced me to him ; and though I had little personal acquaintance with him till after- ward, his ministry was exceedingly useful to me. I had like- wise access to some religious societies, and became known to many excellent Christians in private life. Thus, when at London, I lived at the fountain-head, as it were, for spiri- tual advantages. When I was in Kent it was very different ; yet I found some serious persons there ; but the fine varie- gated woodland country afforded me advantages of another kind. Most of my time, at least some hours every day, I passed in retirement, when the weather was fair; sometimes in the thickest woods, sometimes on the highest hills, where almost everv step varied the prospect. It has been my cus-

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torn, for many years, to perform my devotional exercises sub die, when I have opportunity ; and I always find these rural scenes have some tendency hoth to refresh and to compose my spirits. A beautiful diversified prospect glad- dens my heart. When I am withdrawn from the noise and petty works of men, I consider myself as in the great tem- ple which the Lord has built for his own honor.

The country between Rochester and Maidstone, border- ing upon the Medway, was well suited to the turn of my mind ; and were I to go over it now, I could point to many a place where I remember to have either earnestly sought, or happily found, the Lord's comfortable presence with my soul. And thus I lived, sometimes at London, and some- times in the country, till the autumn of the following year. All this while I had two trials more or less upon my mind : the first and principal was Mrs. Newton's illness ; she still grew worse, and I had daily more reason to fear that the hour of separation was at hand. When faith was in exer- cise, I was in some measure resigned to the Lord's will ; but too often my heart rebelled, and I found it hard either to trust or to submit. I had likewise some care about my future settlement ; the African trade was overdone that year, and my friends did not care to fit out another ship till mine returned. I was sometime in suspense ; but indeed a provi- sion of food and raiment has seldom been a cause of great solicitude to me. I found it easier to trust the Lord in this point than in the former ; and accordingly this was first an- swered. In August I received notice that I was nominated to the office of tide-surveyor. These places are usually ob- tained, or at least sought, by dint of much interest and ap- plication ; but this came to me unsought and unexpected. I knew, indeed, my good friends in Liverpool had endea- vored to procure another post for me, but found it pre- engaged. I found, afterward, that the place I had missed would have been very unsuitable for me ; and that this, which I had no thought of, was the very thing I could have wished for, as it afforded me much leisure, and the liberty of living in my own way. Several circumstances, unnoticed by others, concurred to show me that the good hand of the Lord was as remarkably concerned in this event, as in any other leading turn of my life.

But when I gained this point, my distress in the other

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was doubled ; I was obliged to leave Mrs. Newton in the greatest extremity of pain and illness, when the physicians could do no more, and 1 had no ground of hope that I should see her again alive, hut this — that nothing is impossible with the Lord. I had a severe conflict ; but faith prevailed : I found the promise remarkably fulfilled, of strength propor- tioned to my need. The day before I set out, and not till then, the burden was entirely taken from my mind; I was strengthened to resign both her and myself to the Lord's disposal, and departed from her in a cheerful frame. Soon after I was gone she began to amend, and recovered so fast, that in about two months I had the pleasure to meet her at Stone, on her journey to Liverpool.

And now I think 1 have answered, if not exceeded your desire. Since October, 1755, we have been comfortably settled at Liverpool: and all my circumstances have been as remarkably smooth and uniform, as they were various in former years. My trials have been light and few; not but that I still find, in the experience of every day, the ne- cessity of a life of faith. My principal trial is, the body of sin and death, which makes me often to sigh out the apostle's complaint, " O wretched man !" but with him likewise I can say, " I thank God through Jesus Christ my Lord." -I live in a barren land, where the knowledge and power of the Gospel is very low ; yet here are a few of the Lord's people ; and this wilderness has been a useful school to me ; where I have studied more leisurely the truths I gathered up in London. I brought down with me a considerable stock of notional truth ; but I have since found that there is no effectual teacher but God ; that we can receive no farther than he is pleased to communicate ; and that no knowledge is truly useful to me but what is made my own by expe- rience. Many things I thought I had learned, would not stand in an hour of temptation, till I had in this way learned them over again. Since the year 1757, I have had an increasing acquaintance in the West-riding of Yorkshire, where the Gospel flourishes greatly. This has been a good school to me : I have conversed at large among all parties, without joining any ; and in my attempts to hit the golden mean, I have sometimes been drawn too near the different extremes; yet the Lord has enabled me to profit by my mistakes. In brief, I am still a learner, and the Lord still condescends to

4

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teach mo. I begin at lengtli to see that I have attained but very little ; but I trust in him to carry on his ow n work in my soul, and, by all the dispensations of his grace and pro- vidence, to increase my knowledge of him and of myself.

When I was fixed in a house, and found my business would afford me much leisure time, I considered in what manner I should improve it. And now, having reason to close with the Apostle's determination, " to know nothing but Jesus Christ and him crucified," I devoted my life to the prosecution of spiritual knowledge, and resolved to pursue nothing but in subservience to this main design. This resolution divorced me (as I have already hinted) from the classics and mathematics. My first attempt was to learn so much Greek as would enable me to understand the New Testament and Septuagint : and when I had made some progress this way, I entered upon the Hebrew the follow- ing year; and two years afterward, having surmised some advantages from the Syriac version, I began with that lan- guage. You must not think that I have attained, or ever aimed at, a critical skill in any of these : I had no business with them, but as in reference to something else. I never read one classic author in the Greek ; I thought it too late in life to take such a round in this language as I had done in the Latin. I only wanted the signification of scriptural words and phrases ; and for this I thought I might avail my- self of Scapula the Synopsis, and others, who had sustained the drudgery before me. In the Hebrew I can read the his- torical books and psalms with tolerable ease ; but in the prophetical and difficult parts, I am frequently obliged to have recourse to lexicons, &c. However, I know so much as to be able, with such helps as are at hand, to judge for my- self the meaning of any passage I have occasion to consult. Beyond this I do not think of proceeding, if I can find bet- ter employment ; for I would rather be some way useful to others, than die with the reputation of an eminent linguist.

Together with these studies, 1 have kept up a course of reading of the best writers in divinity that have come to my hand, in the Latin and English tongues, and some French, (for I picked up the French at times while I used the sea.) But within these two or three years I have accustomed my- self chiefly to writing, and have not found time to read many books beside the Scriptures.

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I am the more particular in this account, as my case has been something singular ; for in all my literary attempts I have been obliged to strike out my own path, by the light I could acquire from books, as I have not had a teacher or assistant since I was ten years of age.

One word concerning my views to the ministry, and I have done. 1 have told you that this was my dear mother's hope concerning me ; but her death, and the scenes of life in which I afterward engaged, seemed to cut off the proba- bility. The first desires of this sort in my own mind arose many years ago, from a reflection on Gal. 1 : 23, 24, " But they iiad heard only, that he which persecuted us in times past, now preached the faith which once he destroyed. And they glorified God in me." 1 could not but wish for such a public opportunity to testify the riches of divine grace. I thought I was, above most living, a fit person to proclaim that faithful saying, " That Jesus Christ came into the world to save the chief of sinners ;" and as my life had been full of remarkable turns, and I seemed selected to show what the Lord could do, I was in some hopes that perhaps, sooner or later, he might call me into his service.

I believe it was a distant hope of this that determined me to study the original Scriptures ; but it remained an imper- fect desire in my own breast, till it was recommended to me by some Christian friends. I started at the thought when first seriously proposed to me; but afterward set apart some weeks to consider the case, to consult my friends, and to entreat the Lord's direction. The judgment of my friends, and many things that occurred, tended to engage me. My first thought was to join the Dissenters, from a presumption that I could not honestly make the required subscriptions: but Mr. C , in a conversation upon these points, mo- derated my scruples; and preferring the Established Church in some other respects, I accepted a title from him some months afterward, and solicited ordination from the late Archbishop of York. I need not tell you I met a refusal, nor what steps I took afterward to succeed elsewhere. At present (1763) I desist from my applications. My desire to serve the Lord is not weakened ; but I am not so hasty to push myself forward as I was formerly. It is sufficient that he knows how to dispose of me, and that he both can and will do what is best. To him I commend myself ; I trust

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that his will and my true interest are inseparable. To his name be glory for ever. And thus I conclude my story, and presume you will acknowledge I have been particular enough.

SUBSEQUENT PARTICULARS.

We skall noiv present ovr readers with a further account of .Mr. New- to7i's life, abridged from the work of the Rev. R. Cecil.

Mr. Manesty, who had long been a faithful and generous friend of Mr. Newton, procured him the place of tide-sur- veyor in the port of Liverpool. Mr. N. gives the following account of it: — " I entered upon business yesterday. I find my duty is to attend the tides one week, and visit the ships that arrive, and such as are in the river ; and the other week to inspect the vessels in the docks ; and thus alternately the year round. The latter is little more than a sinecure, but the former requires pretty constant attendance, both by day and night. I have a good office, with fire and candle, and fifty or sixty people under my direction ; with a handsome six-oared boat and a cockswain to row me about in form." Letters to a Wife, vol. ii. p. 7.

"We cannot wonder that Mr. N. latterly retained a strong impression of a particular providence superintending and conducting the steps of man, since he was so often re- minded of it in his own history. The following occurrence is one of many instances. Mr. N., after his reformation, was remarkable for his punctuality ; I remember his often sitting with his watch in his hand, lest he should fail in keep- ing his next engagement. This exactness with respect to time, it seems, was his habit while occupying his post at Liverpool. One day, however, some business had so de- tained him that he came to his boat much later than usual, to the surprise of those who had observed his former punc- tuality. He went out in the boat as heretofore to inspect a ship, but the ship blew up just before he reached her ; it appears, that if he had left the shore a few minutes sooner, he must have perished with the rest on board.

This anecdote I had from a clergyman, upon whose word [ can depend, who had been long on intimate terms with Mr. N., and who had it from Mr. N. himself; the reason of

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its not appearing in his letters from Liverpool to Mrs. N., I can only suppose to be, his fearing to alarm her with respect to the dangers of his station. But another provi- dential occurrence, which he mentions in those letters, I shall transcribe.

" When I think of my settlement here, and the manner of it, I see the appointment of Providence so good and gra- cious, and such a plain answer to my poor prayers, that I cannot but wonder and adore. I think I have not yet told

you, that my immediate predecessor in oflice, Mr. C ,

had not the least intention of resigning his place on the oc- casion of his father's death ; though such a report was spread about the town without his knowledge, or rather in defiance of all he could say to contradict it. Yet to this false report I owe my situation. For it put Mr, M upon an appli- cation to Mr. S , the member for the town; and the

very day he received the promise in my favor, Mr. C

was found dead in his bed, though he had been in company, and in perfect health, the night before. If I mistake not, the same messenger who brought the promise carried back

the news of the vacancy to Mr. S , at Chester. About

an hour after, the mayor applied for a nephew of his ; but, though it was only an hour or two, he was too late. Mr.

S had already written, and sent ofi'the letter, and I was

appointed accordingly. These circumstances appear to me extraordinary, though of a piece with many other parts of my singular history. And the more so, as by another mis- take I missed the land-waiter's place, which was my first object, and which I now see would not have suited us nearly so well. I thank God I can now look through instruments and second causes, and see his wisdom and goodness imme- diately concerned in fixing my lot."

Mr. N. having expressed, near the end of his narrative, the motives which induced him to aim at a regular appoint- ment to the ministry in the Church of England, and the re- fusal he met with in his first making the attempt, the reader is farther informed that, on Dec. 16, 1758, Mr. N. received

a title to a curacy from the Rev. Mr. C , and applied

to the Archbishop of York, Dr. Gilbert, for ordination. The Bishop of Chester having countersigned his testimonials, di- rected him to Dr. Newton, the archbishop's chaplain. He was referred to the secretary, and received the softest refu-

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sal imaginable. The secretary informed him that he had •' represented the matter to the archbishop, but his Grace was inflexible in supporting the rules and canons of the Church," &c.

Travelling to Loughborough, Mr. N. stopped at Wehvyn, and sending a note to the celebrated Dr. Young, he received for answer, that the doctor would be glad to see him. He found the doctor's conversation agreeable, and to answer his expectation respecting the author of the Night Thoughts. The doctor likewise seemed pleased with Mr. N. He ap- proved Mr. N's design of entering the ministry, and said many encouraging things upon the subject; and when he dismissed Mr. N., desired him never to pass near Welwyn without calling upon him.

Mr. N., it seems, had made some small attempts at Liver- pool, in a way of preaching or expounding. Many wished him to engage more at large in those ministerial employ- ments, to which his own mind was inclined; and he thus expresses his motives in a letter to Mrs. N., in answer to the objections she had formed. " The death of the late Rev. Mr. Jones, of St. Savior's, has pressed this concern more closely upon my mind. I fear it must be wrong, after having so solemnly devoted myself to the Lord for his service, to wear away my time, and bury my talents in silence, (because 1 have been refused orders in the Established Church,) after all the great things he has done for me.:'

In a note annexed, he observes, that " the influence of bis judicious and affectionate counsellor moderated the zeal which dictated this letter, written in the year 1762 ; that had it not been for her, he should probably have been pre- cluded from those important scenes of service to which he was afterward appointed :" but, he adds, " The exercises of my mind upon this point, I believe, have not been peculiar to myself. 1 have known several persons, sensible, pious, of competent abilities, and cordially attached to the esta- blished church; who, being wearied out with repeated re- fusals of ordination, and, perhaps, not having the advantage of such an adviser as I had, have at length struck into the itinerant path, or settled among the dissenters. Some of lhese, yet living, are men of respectable characters, and useful in their ministry."

In the year 1764 Mr. N. had the curacy of Olney pro-

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posed to him, and was recommended by Lord Dartmouth to Dr. Green, bishop of Lincoln ; of whose candor and ten- derness he speaks with much respect. The bishop admitted him as a candidate for orders. " The examination," says he, " lasted about an hour, chiefly upon the principal heads of divinity As I resolved not to be charged hereafter with dissimulation, I was constrained to differ from his lordship in some points ; but he was not offended: he declared him- self satisfied, and has promised to ordain me either next Sunday, in town, or the Sunday following, at Buckden. Let us praise the Lord."

Mr. N. was ordained deacon at Buckden, April 29, 17C4, and priest in June, the following year. In the parish of 01- ney he found many who not only had evangelical views of the truth, but had also long walked in the light and expe- rience of it. The vicarage was in the gift of the Earl of Dartmouth, the nobleman to whom Mr. N. addressed the first twenty-six letters in his Cardiphonia. The earl was a man of real piety and most amiable disposition ; he had formerly appointed the Rev. Moses Brown, vicar of Olney. Mr. Brown was an evangelical minister, and a good man; he had afforded wholesome instruction to the parishioners of Olney, and had been the instrument of a sound con- version in many of them. He was the author of a poem, entitled Sunday Thoughts; a translation of Professor Zimmermann's Excellency of the Knowledge of Jesus Christ, &c.

But Mr. Brown had a numerous family, and met with considerable trials in it ; he too much resembled Eli in his indulgence of his children. He was also under the pressure of difficulties, and had therefore accepted the chaplaincy of Morden College, Blackheath, while vicar of Olney. Mr. N. undertook the curacy of Olney, in which he continued nearly sixteen years, previous to his removal to St. Mary Wool- noth, to which he was afterward presented by the late John Thornton, Esq.

Mr. N. was under the greatest obligations to Mr. Thorn- ton's friendship while at Olney, and was enabled to extend his own usefulness by the bounty of that extraordinary man. To this common patron of every useful and pious endeavor Mr. N. had sent his Narrative, and Mr. Thornton replied in his usual manner, that is, by accompanying his letter with

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a valuable bank note ; and, some months after he paid Mr. N. a visit at Olney. A closer connexion being now formed between friends who employed their distinct talents in pro- moting the same benevolent cause, Mr. Thornton left a sum of money with Mr. N., to be appropriated to the defraying his necessary expenses and relieving the poor. " Be hos- pitable," said Mr. Thornton, " and keep an open bouse for such as are worth}' of entertainment : help the poor and needy : 1 will statedly allow you £200 a year, and readily send whatever you have occasion to draw for more." Mr. N. told me that he thought he had received of Mr. Thornton upward of £3000 in this way during the time he resided at Olney.

The case of most ministers is peculiar in this respect ; some among them ma)' be looked up to on account of their publicity and talents ; they may have made great sacrifices of their personal interest, in order to enter on their minis- try, and may be possessed of the strongest benevolence ; but from the narrowness of their pecuniary circumstances, and from the largeness of their families, they often perceive that ;:n ordinary tradesman in their parishes can subscribe to a charitable or popular institution much more liberally than themselves. This would have been Mr. N's case, but for the above-mentioned singular patronage.

A minister, however, should not be so forgetful of his dispensation as to repine at his want of power in this re- spect. He might as justly estimate his deficiency by the strength of a lion, or the flight of the eagle. The power communicated to him is of another kind; and power of every kind belongs to God, who gives gifts to every man severally as he will. The two mites of the widow were all the power of that kind which was communicated to her, and her be- stowment of her two mites was better accepted than the birge offerings of the rich man. The powers, therefore, of Mr. Thornton, and of Mr. N., though of a different order, were both consecrated to God ; and each might have said, " Of thine own have we given thee."

Providence seems to have appointed Mr. N's residence at Olney, among other reasons, for the relief of the de- pressed mind of the poet Cowper.

Of great importance also was the vicinity of Mr. N's re- sidence to the Rev. Thomas Scott, then curate of Raven-

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stone and Weston Underwood, a man whose ministry and writings have since been so useful to mankind.

In the year 1776 Mr. N. was afflicted with a tumour, or wen, which had formed on his thigh ; and, on account of its growing more large and troublesome, he resolved to un- dergo the experiment of extirpation. This obliged him to go to London for the operation, which was successfully per- formed, October 10, by the late Mr. Warner, of Guy's Hos- pital. I remember hearing him speak several years after- ward of this trying occasion ; but the trial did not seem to have affected him as a painful operation, so much as a cri- tical opportunity in which he might fail in demonstrating the patience of a Christian under pain. " I felt," said he, " that being enabled to bear a very sharp operation with tolerable calmness and confidence, was a greater favor granted to me than the deliverance from my malady."*

While Mr. N. thus continued faithfully discharging the duties of his station, and watching for the temporal and eter- nal welfare of his flock, a dreadful fire broke out at Olney, October, 1777. Mr. N. took an active part in comforting and relieving the sufferers : he collected upward of £200 for them ; a considerable sum of money, when the poverty and late calamity of the place are regarded. Such instances of benevolence toward the people, with the constant assist- ance he afforded the poor, by the help of Mr. Thornton, naturally led him to expect that he should have so much in- fluence as to restrain gross licentiousness on particular oc- casions. But to use his own expression, he had " lived to bury the old crop, on which any dependance could be

* His reflections upon the occasion, in his diary, are as follow: — : Thou didst support me, and make this operation very tolerable. The cure, by thy blessing, was happily expedited ; so that on Sunday,

the 27th, I was enabled to go to church and hear Mr. F , and tlie

following Sunday to preach for him. The tenderness and attention of Dr. and Mrs. F , with whom we were, I cannot sufficiently de- scribe: nor, indeed, the kindness of many other friends. To them I would be thankful, my Lord, but especially to thee; for what are creatures but instruments in thy hand, fulfilling thy pleasure ? At borne all was preserved quiet, and I met with no incident to distress or disturb me while absent. The last fortnight I preached often, and was hurried about in seeing my friends. But though I had little leisure or opportunity for retirement, and my heart, alas ! as usual, was sadly reluctantjind dull in secret, yet, in public thou wert pleased to favor ine with liberty."

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placed." He preached a weekly lecture, which occurred that year on the 5th of November ; and, as he feared that the usual way of celebrating it at Olney might endanger his hearers in their attendance at the church, he exerted him- self to preserve some degree of quiet on that evening. In- stead, however, of hearkening to his entreaties, the looser sort exceeded their former extravagance, drunkenness, and rioting, and even obliged him to send out money, to pre- serve his house from violence. This happened but a year before he finally left Olney. When he related this occur- rence to me, he added, that he believed he should never have left the place while he lived, had not so incorrigible a spirit prevailed in a parish he had long labored to reform.

But I must remark here, that this is no solitary fact nor at all unaccountable. The Gospel, we are informed, is not merely " a savor of life unto life," but also " of death unto death." Those whom it does not soften it is often found to harden. Thus we find St. Paul " went into the syna- gogue and spake boldly for the space of three months, dis- puting and persuading the things concerning the kingdom of God. But when divers were hardened, and believed not, but spake evil of that way before the multitude, he departed from them."

" The strong man armed" seeks to keep his " house and goods in peace," and, if a minister is disposed to let this sleep of death remain, that minister's own house and goods may be permitted to remain in peace also. Such a minister may be esteemed by his parish as a good kind of man — quiet, inoffensive, candid, &x. ; and if he discovers any zeal, it is directed to keep the parish in the state he found it ; that is, in ignorance and unbelief, worldly-minded, and hard-hearted ; the very state of peace in which the strong man armed seeks to keep his palace or citadel, the human heart.

But if a minister, like the subject of these Memoirs, en- ters into the design of his commission — if he be alive to the interest of his own soul, and that of the souls committed to his charge ; or, as the apostle expresses it, " to save himself, and those that hear him," he may depend upon meeting, in his own experience, the truth of that declaration, " Yea, all that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution" in one form of it or another. One of the most melancholy

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sights wc heboid is when professed Christians, tlirough pre- judice, join the world in throwing the stone. There is, however, such a determined enmity to godliness itself, in the breast of a certain class of men existing in most parishes, that, whatever learning and good sense is found in their teacher — whatever consistency of character, or blameless deportment he exhibits ; whatever benevolence or bounty (like that which Mr. N. exercised at Olney) may constantly appear in his character ; such men remain irreconcilable. They will resist every attempt made to appease their enmity. God alone, who changed the hearts of Paul and Newton, can heal these bitter waters.

I recollect to have heard Mr. N. say on such an occasion, " When God is about to perform any great work, he gene- rally permits some great opposition to it. Suppose Pharaoh had acquiesced in the departure of the children of Israel, or that they had met with no difficulties in the way, they would, indeed, have passed from Egypt to Canaan with ease ; but they, as well as the church in all future ages, would have been great losers. The wonder-working God would not have been seen in those extremities which make his arm so visible. A smooth passage here would have made but a poor story."

But under such disorders, Mr. N., in no one instance that I ever heard of, was tempted to depart from the line marked out by the precept and example of his Master. He con- tinued to " bless them that persecuted him," knowing that " the servant of the Lord must not strive, but be gentle unto all men, apt to teach, patient." To the last day he spent among them he went straight fonord, " in meekness in- structing those that opposed, if God peradventure might give them repentance to the acknowledging the truth."

But, before we take a final leave of Olney, the reader must be informed of another part of Mr. N's labors. He had published a volume of Sermons before he took orders, dated Liverpool, January 1, 1760. In 1762, he published his Omicron, to which his letters, signed Vigil, were after- ward annexed. In 1764, appeared his narrative. In 1767, a volume of Sermons, preached at Olney. In 1769, his Review of Ecclesiastical History; and, in 1770, a volume of Hymns, of which some were composed by Mr. Cowper, and distinguished by the letter C. prefixed to them. To

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these succeeded, in 1781, his valuable work, Cardiphonia.

From Olney Mr. N. was removed to the rectory of the united parishes of St. Mary Woolnoth and St. Mary Wool- church Haw, Lombard-street, on the presentation of his friend, Mr. Thornton.

Some difficulty arose on Mr. N's being presented, from Mr. Thornton's right of presentation being claimed by a nobleman ; the question was, therefore, at length brought before the House of Lords, and determined in favor of Mr. Thornton. Mr. N. preached his first sermon in these parishes, December 19, 17T9, from Eph. 4 : 15, " Speaking t lie truth in love." It contained an affectionate address to his parishioners, and was directly published for their use.

Here a new and very distinct scene of action and useful- ness was set before him. Placed in the centre of London, in an opulent neighborhood, with connections daily increas- ing, he had now a course of service to pursue, in several respects different from his former at Olney. Being, however, well acquainted with the word of God, and the heart of man, he proposed to himself no new weapons of warfare for pull- ing down the strong holds of sin and Satan around him. He perceived, indeed, most of his parishioners too intent upon their wealth and merchandise to pay much regard to their new minister; but, since they would not come to him, he was determined to go, as far as he could, to them; and, therefore, soon after his institution, he sent a printed ad- dress to his parishioners: he afterward sent them another address, on the usual prejudices that are taken up against the gospel. What effects these attempts had then upon them does not appear; certain it is, that these, and other acts of his ministry, will be recollected by them when the objects of their present pursuits are forgotten or lamented.

I have heard Mr. N. speak with great feeling on the cir- cumstances of his last important station. " That one," said he, " of the most ignorant, the most miserable, and the most abandoned of slaves, should be plucked from his forlorn state of exile on the coast of Africa, and at length be ap- pointed minister of the parish of the first magistrate of the first city in the world ; that he should there not only testify of such grace, but stand up as a singular instance and monu- ment of it; that he should be enabled to record it in his history, preaching, and writings, to the world at large — is

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a fact I can contemplate with admiration, but never suffi- ciently estimate.'' This reflection, indeed, was so present to his mind on all occasions, and in all places, that he sel- dom passed a single day any where but lie was found refer- ring to the strange event, in one way or other.

When Mr. N. came to London he resided for some time in Charles' Square, Hoxton; afterward he removed to Coleman Street Buildings, where he continued till his death. Being of the most friendly and communicative disposition, his house was open to Christians of all ranks and denomi- nations. Here, like a father among his children, he used to entertain, encourage, and instruct his friends, especially younger ministers, or candidates for the ministry. Here also the poor, the afflicted, and the tempted, found an asy- lum and a sympathy which they could scarcely find, in an equal degree, any where besides.

His timely hints were often given with much point and profitable address to the numerous acquaintance who sur- rounded him in his public station. Some time after Mr. N. had published his Omicron, and described the three stages of growth in religion, from the blade, the ear, and the full corn in the ear, distinguishing them by the letters A, B, and C, a conceited young minister wrote to Mr. N., telling him that he read his own character accurately drawn in that of C. Mr. N. wrote in reply, that in drawing the character of C, or full maturity, he had forgotten to add, till now, one prominent feature of C's character, namely, that C never knew his own face.

" It grieves me," said Mr. N., " to see so few of my wealthy parishioners come to church. I always consider the rich as under greater obligations to the preaching of the gospel than the poor. For at church the rich must hear the whole truth as well as others. There they have no mode of es- cape. But let them once get home, you will be troubled to get at them; and, when you are admitted, you are so fet- tered with punctilio, so interrupted and damped with the frivolous conversation of their friends, that, as Archbishop Leighton says, 1 it is well if your visit does not prove a blank or a blot.'"

Mr. N. used to improve every occurrence which he could with propriety bring into the pulpit. One night he found a bill put up at St. Mary Woolnoth's, upon which he com-

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merited a great deal when he came to preach. The hill was to this effect : " A young man having come to the posses- sion of a very considerable fortune, desires the prayers of the congregation that he may be preserved from the snares to which it exposes him." " Now, if the man," said Mr. N. " had lost a fortune, the world would not have wondered to have seen him put up a bill, but this man has been better taught."

Coming out of his church on a Wednesday, a lady stop- ped him on the steps, and said, " The ticket, of which I held a quarter, is drawn a prize of ten thousand pounds. I know you will congratulate me upon the occasion." " Madam," said he, " as foi a friend under temptation, I will endeavor to pray for you."

Soon after he came to St. Mary's I remember to have heard him say, in a certain company, " Some have observed that I preach shorter sermons on a Sunday morning, and with more caution ; but this I do upon principle. I suppose 1 may have two or three of my bankers present, and some others of my parish, who have hitherto been strangers to my views of truth. I endeavor to imitate the apostle. ' I be- came,' says he, 1 all things to all men ;' but observe the end, it was in order to ' gain some.' The fowler must go cau- tiously to meet shy birds, but he will not leave his powder and shot behind him. ' I have fed you with milk,' says the apostle ; but there are some that are not only for forcing strong meat, but bones too, down the throat of the child. We must have patience with a single step in the case of an infant ; and there are one-step books and sermons, which are good in their place. Christ taught his disciples as they were able to bear ; and it was upon the same principle that the apostle accommodated himself to prejudice. Now," con- tinued he, " what I wish to remark on these considerations is, that this apostolical principle, steadily pursued, will ren- der a minister apparently inconsistent ; superficial hearers will think him a trimmer. On the other hand, a minister, destitute of the apostolical principle and intention, and di- recting his whole force to preserve the appearance of con- sistency, may thus seem to preserve it ; but, let me tell you, here is only the form of faithfulness without the spirit."

I could not help observing, one day, how much Mr. N. was grieved with the mistake of a minister who appeared to

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pay too much attention to politics. " For my part," said he, " I have no temptation to turn politician, and much less to inflame a party, in these times. When a ship is leak)', and a mutinous spirit divides the company on board, a wise man would say, ' My good friends, while we are debating the water is gaining on us — we had better leave the debate and go to the pumps.' I endeavor," continued he, " to turn my people's eyes from instruments to God. I am continually attempting to show them how far they are from knowing either the matter of fact or the matter of right. I inculcate our great privileges in this country, and advise a discon- tented man to take a lodging for a little while in Russia or Prussia."

Though no great variety of anecdote is to be expected in a course so stationary as this part of Mr. N's life and mi- nistry— for sometimes the course of a single day might give the account of a whole year — yet that day was so benevo- lently spent, that he was found in it " not only rejoicing with those that rejoiced," but literally " weeping with those that wept." The portrait which Goldsmith drew from im- agination, Mr. N. realized in fact, insomuch that had Mr. N. sat for his picture to the poet, it could not have been more accurately delineated than by the following lines in his Deserted Village : —

" Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, " By doctrines fasliion'd to the varying hour; '• Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, " More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. " Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, " And e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side; " But in his duty prompt at every call, " He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for all : "And as a bird each fond endearment tries, " To tempt his new-fledged offspring to the skies, " He tried each ai t, reprov'd each dull delay, " Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way."

I remember to have heard him say, when speaking of his continual interruptions, " I see in this world two heaps of human happiness and misery ; now if I can take but the smallest bit from one heap and add to the other, I carry a point. If, as I go home, a child has dropped a halfpenny, and if, by giving it another, I can wipe away its tears, I feel I have done something. I should be glad indeed to do greater

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things, but I will not neglect this. When I hear a knock at iny study door, I hear a message from God ; it may be a lesson of instruction, perhaps a lesson of patience ; but since it is his message, it must be interesting."

But it was not merely under his own roof that his bene- volent aims were thus exerted ; he was found ready to take an active part in relieving the miserable, directing the anxious, or recovering the wanderer, in whatever state or place he discovered such : of which take the following instance :

The late Dr. Buchanan was a youth of considerable ta- lents, and had received a respectable education. I am not informed of his original destination in point of profes- sion; but certain it is, that he left his parents in Scotland, with a design of viewing the world at large ; and that, with- out those pecuniary resources which could render such an undertaking convenient, or even practicable. Yet, having the sanguine expectations of youth, together with its inex- perience, he determinately pursued his plan. I have seen an account from his own hand, of the strange, but by no means dishonorable resources to which he was reduced in the pursuit of this scheme ; nor can romance exceed the de- tail. To London, however, he came ; and then he seemed to come to himself. He had heard Mr. N's character, and on a Sunday evening he came to St. Mary Woolnoth, and stood in one of the aisles while Mr. N. preached. In the course of that week he wrote to Mr. N. some account of his ad- ventures and state of mind. Such circumstances could be addressed to no man more properly. Mr. N's favorite maxim was often in his mouth, more often in his actions, and al- ways in his heart :

Haud ignara mali, miseris succurrfrc disco. " Not ignorant of suffering, I hasten to succour the wretched." Mr. N. therefore gave notice from the pulpit on the follow- ing Sunday evening, that, if the person were present who had sent him such a letter, he should be glad to speak with him.

Mr. Buchanan gladly accepted the invitation, and came to Mr. N's house, where a friendship began which conti- nued till Mr. N's death. Mr. N. not only afforded this youth the instruction which he at this period so deeply needed, but marking his fine abilities and correct inclination, he in-

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traduced him to Henry Thornton, Esq., who, inheriting his lather's unbounded liberality, and determined adherence to the cause of real religion, readily patronised the stranger. Mr. Buchanan was, by the munificence of this gentleman, supported through a university education, and was afterward ordained to a curacy. It was, however, thought expedient that his talents should be employed in an important station abroad, which he readily undertook, and in which he main- tained a very distinguished character.

It ought not to be concealed that Mr. Buchanan, after his advancement, not only returned his patron the whole ex- pense of his university education, but also placed in his hands an equal sum, for the education of some pious youth who might be deemed worthy of the same assistance as was once afforded to himself.

Mr. N. used to spend a month or two, annually, at the house of some friend in the country ; he always took an affectionate leave of his congregation before he departed, and spoke of his leaving town as quite uncertain of return- ing to it, considering the variety of incidents which might prevent that return. Nothing was more remarkable than his constant habit of regarding the hand of God in every event, however trivial it might appear to others. On every occasion — in the concerns of every hour — in matters public or private, like Enoch, he " walked with God." Take a single instance of his state of mind in this respect. In walk- ing to his church he would say, " ' The way of man is not in himself,' nor can he conceive what belongs to a single step — when I go to St. Mary Woolnoth, it seems the same whether I turn down Lothbury or go through the Old Jew- ry ; but the going through one street and not another, may produce an effect of lasting consequences. A man cut down my hammock in sport, but had he cut it down half an hour later, I had not been here, as the exchange of crew was then making. A man made a smoke on the seashore at the time a ship passed, which was thereby brought to, and af- terward brought me to England."

Mr. N. experienced a severe stroke soon after he came to St. Mary's, and while he resided in Charles' Square, in the death of his niece, Miss Eliza Cunningham. He loved her with the affection of a parent, and she was, indeed, truly lovely. He had brought her up, and had observed that,

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with the most amiable natural qualities, she possessed real piety. With every possible attention from Mr. and Mrs. Newton and their friends, they yet saw her gradually sink into the arms of death; but she was, through grace, pre- pared to meet him as a messenger sent from her heavenly Father, to whom she departed, October 6th, 1785, aged fourteen years and eight months. On this occasion Mr. N. published a brief memoir of her character and death.*

In the years 1783 and 1784 Mr. N. preached a course of sermons on an occasion of which he gives the following ac- count in his first discourse : " Conversation in almost every company, for some time past, has much turned upon the commemoration of Handel, and particularly on his oratorio of the Messiah. I mean to lead your meditations to the language of the oratorio, and to consider, in their order, (if the Lord, on whom our breath depends, shall be pleased to afford life, ability, and opportunity,) the several sublime and interesting passages of Scripture which are the basis of that admired composition." In the year 1786 he published these discourses in two volumes, octavo. There is a pas- sage so original at the beginning of his fourth sermon, from Mai. 3 : 1 — 3, " The Lord, whom ye seek, shall suddenly come to his temple," &c. that I shall transcribe it for the use of such as have not seen these discourses; at the same time it will, in a few words, convey Mr. N's idea of the usual performance of this oratorio, or attending its perform- ance in present circumstances.

" ' Whereunto shall we liken the people of this genera- tion, and to what are they like?' " I represent to myself a number of persons, of various characters, involved in one common charge of high treason. They are already in a state of confinement, but not yet brought to their trial. The facts, however, are so plain, and the evidence against them so strong and pointed, that there is not the least doubt of their guilt being fully proved, and that nothing but a pardon can preserve them from punishment. In this situation it should seem their wisdom to avail themselves of every ex- pedient in their power for obtaining mercy : but they are entirely regardless of their danger, and wholly taken up with

* This Memoir is Tract No. 83, published by the American Tract Society

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contriving methods of amusing themselves, that the}' may pass away the term of their imprisonment with as much cheerfulness as possible. Among other resources, they call in the assistance of music: and amidst a great variety of subjects in this way, they are particularly pleased with one. They choose to make the solemnities of their impending trial, the character of their Judge, the methods of his pro- cedure, and the awful sentence to which they are exposed, the ground-work of a musical entertainment : and, as if they were quite unconcerned in the event, their attention is chiefly fixed upon the skill of the composer, in adapting the style of his music to the very solemn language and subject with which they are trifling. The king, however, out of his great clemency and compassion toward those who have no pity for themselves, prevents them with his goodness. Un- desired by them, he sends them a gracious message : he assures them that he is unwilling they should suffer: he re- quires, yea, he entreats them to submit. He points out a way in which their confession and submission shall be cer- tainly accepted; and in this way, which he condescends to prescribe, he offers them a free and a full pardon. But in- stead of taking a single step toward a compliance with his goodness, the}-" set his message likewise to music; and this, together with a description of their previous state, and of the fearful doom awaiting them, if they continue obstinate, is sung for their diversion, accompanied with the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of instruments. Surely, if such a case as I have sup- posed could be found in real life, though I might admire the musical taste of these people, I should commiserate their insensibility."

But " clouds return after the rain :" a greater loss than that of Miss Cunningham was to follow. Enough has been said in these memoirs already to show the more than ordi- nary affection Mr. N. felt for her who had been so long his idol, as he used to call her; of which I shall add but one more instance out of many that might easily be collected.

Being with him at the house of a lady at Blackheath, we stood at a window which had a prospect of Shooter's Hill. " Ah," said Mr. N., " I remember the many journies I took from London to stand at the top of t*' it hill in order to look toward the part in which Mrs. ft. (lien lived : not

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that I could see the spot itself, after travelling several miles, for she lived far beyond what I could see, when on the hill ; but it gratified me even to look toward the spot: and this I did always once, and sometimes twice a week." " Why," said J, " this is more like one of the vagaries of romance than of real life." " True," replied lie, " but real life has extravagancies that would not be admitted to appear in a well-written romance — they would be said to be out of nature."

In such a continued habit of excessive attachment, it is evident how keenly Mr. N. must have felt, while he observed the progress of a threatening disorder. This will be ma- nifest from the following account which he published. It was added to his publication, Letters to a Wife, and he entitles it

A Relation of some Particulars respecting the Cause, Progress, and Close of the last Illness of my late dear Wife.

Among my readers there will doubtless be some of a gentle, sympathizing spirit, with whom I am not personally acquainted ; and perhaps their feelings may so far interest them in my concerns as to make them not unwilling to read a brief account of my late great trial.

My dear wife had naturally a good constitution, and was favored with good spirits to the last : but the violent shock she sustained in the year 1754, when I was suddenly at- tacked by a fit ( I know not of what kind) which left me no sign of life for about an hour, but breathing, made as sudden a change in her habit, and subjected her, from that time, to a variety of chronic complaints. She was several times confined, for five or six months, to her chamber, and often brought so low that her recovery seemed hopeless. I believe she spent ten j'ears, out of the forty that she was spared to me, (if all the days of her sufferings were added together,) in illness and pain. But she had likewise long intervals of health. The fit I have mentioned (the only one I ever had) was the means the Lord was pleased to appoint, in answer to my prayers, to free me from the irksome sea- faring life in which I was till then engaged, and to appoint me a settlement on shore.

Before our removal from Liverpool she received a blow upon her left breast, which occasioned her some pain and anxiety, for a little time, but which soon wore off. A small

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lump remained in the part affected, but I heard no more of it for many years. I believe that, latterly, she felt more than I was aware of; but her tenderness for me made her conceal it as long as possible. I have often since wondered at her success, and how I could be kept so long ignorant of it.

In the month of October, 1788, she applied, unknown to me, to a friend of mine, an eminent surgeon: her design was, if he approved it, to submit to an operation, and so to adjust time and circumstances with him, that it might be performed in my absence, and before I could know it : but the surgeon told her that the malady was too far advanced, and the tumour (the size of which he compared to the half of a melon) was too large to warrant the hope of being ex- tracted without the most imminent danger of her life, and that he durst not attempt it. He could give her but little advice, more than to keep herself as quiet, and her mind as easy as possible; and little more encouragement, than by saying that the pains to which she was exposed were ge- nerally rendered tolerable by the use of laudanum ; to which, however, she had a dislike, little short of an antipathy.

I cannot easily describe the composure and resignation with which she gave me this recital the next day after her interview with the surgeon ; nor of the sensations of my mind while I heard it. My conscience told me that I had well deserved to be wounded where I was most sensible ; and that it was my duty to submit with silence to the will of the Lord. But I strongly felt that, unless he was pleased to give me this submission, I was more likely to toss like a wild bull in a net, in defiance of my better judgment.

Soon after, the Lord was pleased to visit our dear adopted daughter with a dreadful fever, which at first greatly affected her nerves, and afterward became putrid. She (Miss Catlett) was brought very near to the grave indeed ; for we, once or twice, thought her actually dead. But He, who in the midst of judgment remembers mercy, restored her, and still pre- serves her, to be the chief temporal comfort of my old age, and to afford me the greatest alleviation of the loss I was soon to experience, that the case could admit.

The attention and anxiety occasioned by this heavy dis- pensation, which lasted during the whole of a very severe winter ; were by no means suited to promote that tranquil- lity of mind which my good friend wished my dear wife

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would endeavor to preserve. She was often much fatigued, and often much alarmed. Next to each other, this dear child had the nearest place, both in her heart and mine. The effects were soon apparent: as the spring of 1789 ad- vanced, her malady rapidly increased ; her pains were almost incessant, and often intense, and she could seldom lie one hour in her bed in the same position. . Oh ! my heart, what didst thou then suffer!

But in April, the God who heareth prayer mercifully afforded relief, and gave such a blessing to the means em- ployed, that her pains ceased. And though I believe she never had an hour of perfect ease, she felt little of the dis- tressing pains incident to her malady, from that time to the end of her life, (which was about twenty months,) excepting at three or four short intervals, which, taken together, hardly amounted to two hours: and these returns of an- guish, I thought, were permitted to show me how much I was indebted to the goodness of God for exempting her feelings and my sympathy from what would have been terrible indeed!

In the close of the summer she was able to go to South- ampton, and returned tolerably well. She was twice at church in the first week after she came home. She then went no more abroad, except in a coach, for a little air and exercise: but she was cheerful, tolerably easy, slept as well as most people who are in perfect health, and could receive and converse with her kind friends who visited her.

It was not long after, that she began to have a distaste for food, which continued and increased ; so that, perhaps, her death was, at last, rather owing to weakness, from want of nourishment, than to her primary disorder. Her dislike was, first, to butcher's meat, of which she could bear neither the sight nor the smell. Poultry and fish, in their turns, became equally distasteful. She retained some relish for small birds, awhile after she had given up the rest; but it was at a season when they were difficult to be obtained. . I hope I shall always feel my obligations to the kind friends who spared no pains to procure some for her, when they were not to be had in the markets. At that time I set more value upon a dozen of larks than upon the finest ox in Smithfield. But her appetite failed to these also, when they became more plentiful.

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Undcr this trying discipline I learnt, more sensibly than ever, to pity those whose sufferings, of a similar kind, are aggravated by -poverty. Our distress was not small, yet we had every thing within reach, that could, in any degree, conduce to her refreshment or relief; and we had faithful and affectionate servants, who were always willingly engaged to their power, yea, as the apostle speaks, beyond then power, in attending and assisting her, by night and by day. What must be the feelings of those who, when afflicted with grievous diseases, pine away, unpitied, unnoticed, without help, and, in a great measure, destitute of common neces- saries? This reflection, among others, contributed to quiet my mind, and to convince me that I had still much more cause for thankfulness than for complaint.

For about a twelvemonth of her confinement her spirits were good, her patience was exemplary, and there was a cheerfulness in her looks and her language that was wonder- ful. Often the liveliness of her remarks has forced a smiie from us, when the tears were in our eyes. Whatever little contrivances she formed for her amusement, in the cour.-c of the day, she would attend to nothing till she had finished her stated reading of the Scripture, in which she employed much time and great attention. I have her Bible by me, (which I would not part with for half the manuscripts in the Vatican,) in which almost every principal text, from the be- ginning to the end of the book, is marked in the margin with a pencil, by her own dear hand. The good word of God was her medicine and her food, while she was able to read it. She read Dr. Watts's Psalms and Hymns, and the Olney Hymns, in the same manner. There are few of them in which one, two, or more verses, are not thus marked ; and in man}', which I suppose she read more frequently, every verse is marked. ^

But in October the enemy was permitted, for a while, to take advantage of her bodily weakness, to disturb the peace and serenity of her mind. Her thoughts became douded and confused ; and she gradually lost, not only the comfortable evidence of her own interest in the precious truths of the Bible, but she lost all hold of the truth itself. She doubted the truth of the Bible, or whether truth existed ; and, together with this, she expressed an extreme reluctance to death, and could not easily bear the most distant hint of

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her approaching end, though we were expecting it daily and hourly. This was the acme, the highwater-mark of my trial : this was hard to bear indeed.

My readers, perhaps, will scarcely believe that I derived some consolation, during this gloomy period, from perceiving that her attachment to me was very sensibly abated. She spoke to me with an indifference, of which, a little before, she was incapable. If, when the Lord's presence was with- drawn, and she could derive no comfort from his word, she had found some relief from my being with her, or from hear- ing me speak, I should have been more grieved. Her affec- tion to me, confirmed by so many proofs, in the course of forty years, was not to be impeached by this temporary suspension of its exercise. I judged the same of the frame of her mind, as to her spiritual concerns: I ascribed them both to the same causes — her bodily weakness, and the power of temptation. She was relieved, in both respects, after about a fortnight spent in conflict and dismay. The Lord restored peace to her soul, and then her former ten- derness to me immediately revived. Then, likewise, she could calmly speak of her approaching dissolution. She mentioned some particulars concerning her funeral, and our domestic concerns, with great composure. But her mind was not so fully restored to its former tone as to give her freedom to enlarge upon her hopes and views, as I had wished, till near her dissolution ; and then she was too low to speak at all.

One addition to our trial yet remained. It had been her custom, when she went from her sofa to her bed, to exert herself for my encouragement, to show me how well she could walk. But it pleased the Lord that, by some altera- tion, which affected her spine, she was disabled from moving herself; and other circumstances rendered it extremely dif- ficult to move her. It has taken five of us nearly two hours to remove her from one side of the bed to the other, and, at times, even this was impracticable: so that she has lain more than a week exactly in the same spot, without the possibility of changing her position. All this was necessary on my account. The rod had a voice, and it was the voice of the Lord. I understood the meaning no less plainly than if he had spoken audibly from heaven, and said, " Now contemplate your idol. Now see what she is whom you

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once presumed to prefer to Me!" Even this bitter cup was sweetened by the patience and resignation which he gave her. When I have said, " You suffer greatly,'' her answer usually was, " I suffer, indeed, but not greatly." And she often expressed her thankfulness that, though her body was immovable, she was still permitted the use of her hands.

One of the last sensible concerns she felt, respecting this world, was when my honored friend, patron, and benefactor, the late John Thornton, Esq., of Clapham, was removed to a better. She revered and regarded him, I believe, more than she did any person upon earth: and she had reason. Few had nearer access, to know and admire his character; and perhaps none were under greater, if equal, obligations to him than we. She knew of his illness, but was always afraid to inquire after the event ; nor should I have ventured to inform her, but that the occasion requiring me to leave her for four or five hours, when I hardly expected to find her alive at ray return, I was constrained to give her the reason of my absence. She eagerly replied, " Go by all means ; I would not have you stay with me upon any con- sideration." I put the funeral ring I was favored with into her hands; she put it first to her lips, and then to her eyes, bedewing it with her tears. I trust they soon met again. But she survived him more than a month.

Her head became so affected that I could do little more than sit and look at her. Our intercourse by words was nearly broken off. She could not easily bear the sound of the gentlest foot upon the carpet, nor of the softest voice. On Sunday, the 12th of December, when I was preparing for church in the morning, she sent for me, and we took a final farewell, as to this world. She faintly uttered an en- dearing appellation, which was familiar to her, and gave me her hand, which I held, while I prayed by her bedside. We exchanged a few tears ; but I was almost as unable to speiik as she was. But 1 returned soon after, and said, " If your mind, as I trust, is in a state of peace, it will be a comfort to me if you can signify it by holding up your hand." She held it up, and waved it to and fro several times.

That evening her speech, her sight, and, I believe, her hearing, wholly failed. She continued perfectly composed, without taking notice of any thing, or discovering any sign of pain or uneasiness, till Wednesday evening toward seven.

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o'clock. She then began to breathe very hard ; her breath- ing might be called groaning, for it was heard in every part of the house ; but I believe it was entirely owing to the diffi- culty of respiration, for she lay quite still, with a placid countenance, as if in a gentle slumber. There was no start or struggle, nor a feature ruffled. I took my post by her bed-side, and watched her nearly three hours, with a candle in my hand, till I saw her breathe her last, on the 15th of December, 1790, a little before ten in the evening.

When I was sure she was gone I took off her ring, ac- cording to her repeated injunction, and put it upon my own finger. I then kneeled down with the servants who were in the room, and returned the Lord my unfeigned thanks for her deliverance, and her peaceful dismission.

How wonderful must be the moment after death ! "What a transition did she then experience ! She was instantly freed from sin, and all its attendant sorrows, and, I trust, in- stantly admitted to join the heavenly choir. That moment was remarkable to me likewise. It removed from me the chief object which made another day or hour of life, as to my own personal concern, desirable. At the same time it set me free from a weight of painful feelings and anxieties, under which nothing short of a divine power could have so long supported me.

I believe it was about two or three months before her death, when I was walking up and down the room, offering disjointed prayers, from a heart torn with distress, that a thought suddenly struck me with unusual force, to this effect : The promises of God must be true ; surely the Lord will help me, if I am willing to be helped ! It occurred to me that we are often led, from a vain complacence in what we call our sensibility, to indulge that unprofitable grief which both our duty and our peace require 4is to resist to the ut- most of our power. 1 instantly said aloud, " Lord, I am helpless indeed in myself, but I hope I am willing, without reserve, that thou shouldst help me."

It had been much upon my mind, from the beginning of this trial, that I was a minister, and that the eyes of many were upon me ; that my turn of preaching had very much led me to endeavor to comfort the afflicted, by representing the Gospel as a catholicon, affording an effectual remedy

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for every evil, a full compensation for every want or loss, to those who truly receive it ; so that though a believer may be afflicted, he cannot be properly unhappy, unless he gives way to self-will and unbelief. I had often told my hearers that a state of trial, if rightly improved, was, to the Chris- tian, a post of honor, affording the fairest opportunity of ex- emplifying the power of divine grace, to the praise and glory of the Giver. It had been, therefore, my frequent daily prayer that I might not, by impatience or despondency, be deprived of the advantage my situation afforded me, of con- firming, by my own practice, the doctrine which I had preached to others ; and that I might not give them occasion to apply to me the words of Eliphaz to Job, chap. 4 : 4, 5, " Thy words have upholder! him that was falling, and thou hast strengthened the feeble knees ; but now it is come upon thee, and thou faintest ; it toucheth thee, and thou art trou- bled !" And I had not prayed in vain. But from the time that I so remarkably felt myself willing to be helped, I might truly say, to the praise of the Lord, my heart trusted in Him, and I was helped indeed. Through the w hole of my painful trial I attended all my stated and occasional services, as usual ; and a stranger would scarcely have discovered, either by my words or looks, that I was in trouble. Many of our intimate friends were apprehensive that this long affliction, and especially the closing event, would have over- whelmed me ; but it was far otherwise. It did not prevent me from preaching a single sermon, and I preached on the day of her death.

After she was gone, my willingness to be helped, and my desire that the Lord's goodness to me might be observed by others, for their encouragement, made me indifferent to some laws of established custom, the breach of which is often more noticed than the violation of God's commands. I was afraid of sitting at home, and indulging myself, by poring over my loss ; and therefore I was seen in the street, and visited some of my serious friends the very next da}'. I like- wise preached three times while she lay dead in the house. Some of my brethren kindly offered their assistance ; but as the Lord was pleased to give me strength, both of body and mind, I thought it my duty to stand up in my place, as for- merly. And after she was deposited in the vault I preached

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her funeral sermon,* with little more sensible emotion than if it had been for another person. I have reason to hope that many of my hearers were comforted and animated un- der their afflictions, by what they saw of the Lord's good- ness to me in my time of need. And I acknowledge that it was well worth standing a while in the fire, for such an op- portunity of experiencing and exhibiting the power and faithfulness of his promises.

I was not supported by lively sensible consolations, but by being enabled to realize to my mind some great and lead- ing truths of the word of God. I saw, what indeed 1 knew before, but never till then so strongly and clearly perceived, that, as a sinner, I had no right, and as a believer, I could have no reason to complain. I considered her as a loan, which He who lent her to me had a right to resume when- ever He pleased ; and that as I had deserved to forfeit her every day, from the first, it became me rather to be thank- ful that she was spared so long to me, than to resign her with reluctance when called for. Farther, that his sove- reignty was connected with infinite wisdom and goodness, and that, consequently, if it were possible for me to alter any part of his plan, I could only spoil it ; that such a short- sighted creature as I, so blind to the possible consequences of my own wishes, was not only unworthy, but unable to choose well for himself; and that it was therefore my great mercy and privilege that the Lord condescended to choose for me. May such considerations powerfully affect the hearts of my readers under their troubles, and then I shall not re- gret having submitted to the view of the public, a detail which may seem more proper for the subject of a private letter to a friend. They who can feel, will, I hope, excuse me : and it is chiefly for their sakes that I have written it.

When my wife died the world seemed to die with her, (1 hope, to revive no more.) I see little now but my ministry and my Christian profession to make a continuance in life for a single day desirable ; though I am willing to wait my appointed time. If the world cannot restore her to me (not that I have the remotest wish that her return was possible) it can do nothing for me. The Bank of England is too poor

* From a text which I had reserved from my first entrance on the ministry, for this particular service, if I should surv ive her, and be able to speak.

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to compensate for such a loss as mine. But the Lord, the all-sufficient God, speaks, and it is done. Let those who know him, and trust him, be of good courage. He can give them strength according to their day ; He can increase their strength as their trials are increased, to any assignable de- gree. And what He can do, He has promised He will do. The power and faithfulness on which the successive changes of day and night, and of the seasons of the year depend, and which uphold the stars in their orbits, are equally engaged to support his people, and to lead them safely and unhurt (if their path be so appointed) through floods and flames. Though I believe she has never yet been (and probably never will be) out of my waking thoughts for five minutes at a time, though I sleep in the bed in which she suffered and languished so long, I have not had one uncomfortable day, nor one rest- less night, since she left me. I have lost a right hand, which I cannot but miss continually, but the Lord enables me to go on cheerfully without it.

May his blessing rest upon the reader! May glory, ho- nor and praise be ascribed to his great and holy name, now and for ever ! Amen.

The following verses were composed by Mr. Newton, and sung after her funeral sermon.

Habakkuk, 3 : 17, 18.

The earth, with rich abundance stor'd,

To answer all our wants, Invites our hearts to praise the Lord

For what his bounty grants.

Flocks, herds, and corn, and grateful fruit,

His gracious hand supplies; And while our various tastes they suit,

Their prospect cheers our eyes.

To these He adds each tender tie

Of sweet domestic life ; Endearing joys, the names imply,

Of parent, husband, wife.

But sin has poisoned all below,

Our blessings burdens prove ; On ev'ry hand we suffer wo,

But most, where most we love

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Nor vintage, harvest, flocks, nor herds,

Can till the heart's desire; And oft a worm destroys our gourds,

And all our hopes expire.

Domestic joys, alas ! how rare !

Possessed and known by few ' And they who know them, find they are

As frail and transient too.

But you who love the Savior's voice,

And rest upon his name ; Amidst these changes may rejoice,

For He is still the same.

The Lord himself will soon appear,

Whom you, unseen, adore; Then He will wipe off ev'ry tear,

And you shall weep no more.

Mr. N. made this remark on her death, " Just before Mrs. N's disease became so formidable, I was preaching on the waters of Egypt being turned into blood. The Egyp- tians had idolized their river, and God made them loath it. I was apprehensive it would soon be a similar case with me." During the very affecting season of Mrs. N's dissolu- tion, Mr. N., like David, wept and prayed ; but the desire of his eyes being taken away by the stroke, he too, like David, " arose from the earth, and came into the temple of the Lord, and worshipped," and that in a manner which surprised some of his friends.

Besides which, Mr. N. had a favorite sentiment, which I have heard him express in different ways, long before he had so special an occasion for illustrating it in practice. " God in his providence," he used to say, " is continually bringing about occasions to demonstrate characters." He used to instance the case of Achan and Judas among bad men ; and that of St. Paul, Acts, 27, among good ones. " If any one," said he, " had asked the centurion who Paul the prisoner was that sailed with them on board the ship — it is probable he would have thus replied, ' He is a trou- blesome enthusiast, who has lately joined himself to a cer- tain sect. These people affirm that a Jewish malefactor, who was crucified some years ago at Jerusalem, rose the third day from the dead ; and this Paul is mad enough to asset t that Jesus, the leader of their sect, is not only now

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alive, but that he himself has seen him, and is resolved to live and die with him — Poor crazy creature !' But God made use of this occasion to discover the real character of Paul, and taught the centurion, from the circumstances which followed, to whom it was he owed his direction in the storm, and for whose sake he received his preservation through it."

In all trying occasions, therefore, Mr. N. was particularly impressed with the idea of a Christian, and especially of a Christian minister, being called to stand forward as an ex- ample to his flock — to feel himself placed in a post of ho- nor— a post in which he may not only glorify God, but also forcibly demonstrate the peculiar supports of the Gospel. More especially when this could be done (as in his own case) from no doubtful motive; then it may be expedient to leave the path of ordinary custom, for the greater reason of exhibiting both the doctrines of truth and the experience of their power.

Though I professedly publish none of Mr. N's letters, yet I shall take the liberty to insert part of one, with which I am favored by J. Forbes, Esq. of Stanmore Hill, written to him while at Rome, and dated December 5th, 1796. It shows the interest which the writer took in the safety of his friend, and his address in attempting to break the enchant- ments with which men of taste are surrounded, when stand- ing in the centre of the fine arts.

" The true Christian, in strict propriety of speech, has no home here ; he is, and must be, a stranger and a pilgrim upon earth : his citizenship, treasure, and real home, are in a better world ; and every step he takes, whether to the east or to the west, is a step nearer to his Father's house. On the other hand, when in the path of duty, he is always at home ; for the whole earth is the Lord's : and as we see the same sun in England or Italy, in Europe or Asia, so wherever he is, he equally sets the Lord always before him, and finds himself equally near the throne of grace at all times and in all places. God is every where, and, by faith in the Great Mediator, he dwells in God, and God in him."

" I trust, my dear Sir, that you will carry out and bring home with you, a determination similar to that of the pa- triarch Jacob, who vowed a vow, saying, ' If God will be with me, and will keep me in the way that I go, and will

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give mc bread to eat, and raiment to put on, so that I come again to my father's house in peace, then shall the Lord be my God !' May the Lord himself write it on your heart !

" You are now at Rome, the centre of the fine arts ; a place abounding with every thing to gratify a person of youi taste. Athens had the pre-eminence in the apostle Paul's time; and I think it highly probable, from many passages in his writings, that he likewise had a taste capable of ad- miring and relishing the beauties of painting, sculpture, and architecture, which he could not but observe during his abode in that city: but then he had a higher, a spiritual, a divine taste, which was greatly shocked and grieved by the igno- rance, idolatry, and wickedness, which surrounded him, in- somuch that he could attend to nothing else. This taste, which cannot be acquired by any effort or study of ours, but is freely bestowed on all who sincerely ask it of the Lord, divests the vanities, which the world admire, of their glare ; and enables us to judge of the most splendid and specious works of men, who know not God, according to the declaration of the prophet, ' They hatch cockatrice eggs, and weave the spider's web.' Much ingenuity is displayed in the weaving of a cobweb, but when finished it is worth- less and useless : incubation requires close diligence and at- tention ; if the hen is too long from her nest, the egg is spoiled ; but why should she sit at all upon the egg, and watch it, and warm it night and day, if it only produces a cockatrice at last"? Thus vanity and mischief are the chief rulers of unsanctified genius; the artists spin webs, and the philosophers, by their learned speculations, hatch cock- atrices, to poison themselves and their fellow-creatures: few of either sort have one serious thought of that awful eternity upon the brink of which they stand for a while, and into the depth of which they successively fall.

" A part of the sentence denounced against the city, which once stood upon seven hills, is so pointed and gra- phical, that I must transcribe it: ' And the voice of harpers, and musicians, and pipers, and trumpeters, shall be heard no more at all in thee; and no craftsman, of whatsoever craft he be, shall be found any more in thee, and the light of a candle shall no more be seen in thee.' Now, I am in- formed, that, upon certain occasions, the whole cupola of St. Peter's is covered with lamps, and affords a very mag-

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nificent spectacle : if I saw it, it would remind me of that time when there will not bo the shining of a single candle in the city ; for the sentence must be executed, and the hour may be approaching.

" You kindly inquire after my health : myself and family are, through the Divine favor, perfectly well ; yet, healthy as I am, I labor under a growing disorder, for which there is no cure ; I mean old age. I am not sorry it is a mortal disease, from which no one recovers ; for who would live always in such a world as this, who has a scriptural hope of an inheritance in the world of light 1 I am now in my seventy-second year, and seem to have lived long enough for myself; 1 have known something of the evil of life, and have had a large share of the good. I know what the world can do, and what it cannot do ; it can neither give nor take away that peace of God which passeth all understanding ; it cannot sooth a wounded conscience, nor enable us to meet death with comfort. That you, my dear Sir, may have an abiding and abounding experience that the Gospel is a catholicon, adapted to all our wants and all our feelings, and a suitable help when every other help fails, is the sin- cere and ardent prayer of

" Your affectionate friend,

" John Newton."

But in proportion as Mr. N. felt the vanity of earthly pursuits, he was as feelingly alive to whatever regarded eternal concerns. Take an instance of this in a visit which he paid another friend. This friend was a minister who affected great accuracy in his discourses, and who, on that Sunday, had nearly occupied an hour in insisting on several labored and nice distinctions made in his subject. As he had a high estimation of Mr. N's judgment, he inquired of him, as they walked home, whether he thought the distinc- tions just now insisted on were full and judicious? Mr. N. said he thought them not full, as a very important one had been omitted. " What can that be ?" said the minister, M for I had taken more than ordinary care to enumerate them fully." " I think not," replied Mr. N., " for when many of your congregation had travelled several miles for a meal, I think you should not have forgotten the important distinction which must ever exist between meat and bones." 5*

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In the year 1790 Mr. N. had the honorary degree of D.D. conferred upon him by the university of New- Jersey, in America, and the diploma sent him. He also received a work in two volumes, dedicated to him, with the above title annexed to his name. Mr. N. wrote the author a grateful acknowledgment for the work, but begged to decline an honor which he never intended to accept. " I am," said he, " as one born out of due time.* I have neither the preten- sion nor wish to honors of this kind. However, therefore, the university may over-rate my attainments, and thus show their respect, I must not forget myself; it would be both vain and improper were I to concur in it."

But Mr. N. had yet another storm to weather. While we were contemplating the long and rough voyage he had passed, and thought he had only now to rest in a quiet haven, and with a fine sunsetting at the close of the evening of his life ; clouds began to gather again, and seemed to threaten a wreck at the very entry of the port.

He used to make excursions in the summer to different friends in the country, endeavoring to make these visits profitable to them and their neighbors, by his continual prayers, and the expositions he gave of the scriptures read at their morning and evening worship. I have heard of some who were first brought to the knowledge of themselves and of God by attending his exhortations on these occasions ; for, indeed, besides what he undertook in a more stated way at the church, he seldom entered a room but something both profitable and entertaining fell from his lips. After the

"In a MS. note on a letter dated 15th Dee. 1797, he writes, "Though I am not so sensibly affected as I could wish, I hope I am truly af- fected by the frequent reviews I make of my past life. Perhaps the annals of Thy church scarcely afford an instance in all respects so sin- gular. Perhaps Thy grace may have recovered some from an equal degree of apostacy, infidelity, and profligacy: but few of them have been redeemed from such a state of misery and depression as I was in, upon the coast of Africa, when Thy unsought mercy wrought for ray deliverance: but that such a wretch should not only be spared, and pardoned, but reserved to the honor of preaching Thy Gospel, which he had blasphemed and renounced, and at length be placed in a very public situation, and favored with acceptance and usefulness, both from the pulpit and the press, so that my poor name is known in most parts of the world where there are any who know Thee — this is won- derful indeed ! The more Thou hast exalted me, the more 1 ought to abase myself."

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death of Miss Cunningham and Mrs. N., his companion in these summer excursions was his other niece, Miss Elizabeth Catlett. This young lady had also been brought up by Mr. and Mrs. N. with Miss Cunningham, and on the death of the two latter, she became the object of Mr. N's naturally affectionate disposition. She also became quite necessary to him by her administrations in his latter years ; she watched him, walked with him, visited wherever he went; when his sight failed she read to him, divided his food, and was unto him all that a dutiful daughter could be.

But in the year 1801 a nervous disorder seized her, by which Mr. N. was obliged to submit to her being separated from him. During the twelvemonth it lasted, the weight of the aflliction, added to his weight of years, seemed to over- whelm him. I extracted a few of his reflections on the oc- casion, written on some blank leaves in an edition of his Letters to a Wife, which he lent me on my undertaking these Memoirs, and subjoin them in a note.* It may give the reader pleasure to be informed that Miss Catlett re- turned home, and gradually recovered.

* " August 1st, 1801. I now enter my 77th year. I have been exer- cised this year with a trying and unexpected change ; but it is by thy appointment, my gracious Lord ; and thou art unchangeably wise, good, and merciful. Thou gavest me my dear adopted child. Thou didst own my endeavors to bring her up for thee. I have no doubt that thou hast called herbythy grace. I thank thee forthe many years comfort (ten) I have had in her, and forthe attention and affection she has always shown me, exceeding that of most daughters to theirown parents. Thou hast now tried me, as thou didst Abraham, in my old age; when my eyes are failing, and my strength declines. Thou hast called for my Isaac, who had so long been my chief stay and staff, but it was thy chief blessing that made her so. A nervous disorder has seieed her, and I desire to leave her under thy care ; and chiefly pray for myself, that I may be enabled to wait thy time and will, without betraying any signs of impatience or despondency unbecoming my profession and character. Hitherto thou hast helped me; and to thee I look for help in future. Let all issue in thy glory, that my friends and hearers may be encouraged by seeing how I am supported ; let thy strength be manifest in my weakness, and thy grace be sufficient for me, and let all finally work together for our good. Amen. I aim to say from my heart, Not my will, but thine, be done. But though thou hast in a measure made my spirit willing, thou knowest, and 1 feel, that the flesh is weak. Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief. Lord, [ submit, subdue every rebellious thought that dares arise against thy will. Spare my eyes, if it please thee: but, above all, strengthen my faith and love."

t Mr. Newton's Letters to a Niece were written to her: they are published by the American Tract Society ; Series V. No. 7.

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It was with a mixture of delight and surprise that the friends and hearers of this eminent servant of God beheld him bringing forth such a measure of fruit in extreme age. Though then almost eighty years old, his sight nearly gone, and incapable, through deafness, of joining in conversation, yet his public ministry was regularly continued, and main- tained with a considerable degree of his former animation. His memory, indeed, was observed to fail, but his judgment in divine things still remained ; and though some depression of spirits was observed, which he used to account for from his advanced age, his perception, taste, and zeal for the truths he had long received and taught, were evident. Like Simeon, having seen the salvation of the Lord, he now only waited and prayed to depart in peace.

After Mr. N. was turned of eighty, some of his friends feared he might continue his public ministrations too long; they marked not only his infirmities in the pulpit, but felt much on account of the decrease of his strength and of his occasional depressions. Conversing with him in January, 1806, on the latter, he observed that he had experienced nothing which in the least affected the principles he had felt and taught ; that his depressions were the natural result of fourscore years, and that, at any age, we can only enjoy that comfort from our principles which God is pleased to send. " But," replied I, " in the article of public preach- ing, might it not be best to consider your work as done, and stop before you evidently discover you can speak no longer?" "I cannot stop," said he, raising his voice; " What ! shall the old African blasphemer stop while he can speak ?"

In every future visit I perceived old age making rapid strides. At length his friends found some difficulty in mak- ing themselves known to him : his sight, his hearing, and his recollection, exceedingly failed; but, being mercifully kept from pain, he generally appeared easy and cheerful. Whatever he uttered was perfectly consistent with the prin- ciples he had so long and so honorably maintained. Calling to see him a few days before he died, with one of his most intimate friends, we could not make him recollect either of us ; but seeing him afterward, when sitting up in his chair, I found so much intellect remaining as produced a short and affectionate reply, though he was utterly incapable of con- versation

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3Ir. N. declined in this very gradual way, till at length it was painful to ask him a question, or attempt to rouse fa- culties almost gone ; still his friends were anxious to get a word from him, and those friends who survive him will be as anxious to learn the state of his mind in his latest hours. It is quite natural thus to inquire, though it is not important how such a decided character left this world. I have heard Mr. N. say, when he has heard particular inquiry madi; about the last expressions of an eminent believer, " Tell me not how the man died, but how he lived."

Still I say it is natural to inquire, and I will meet the d« • sire (not by trying to expand uninteresting particulars, but) as far as I can collect encouraging facts ; and 1 learn, from a paper kindly sent me by his family, all that is interesting and authentic.

About a month before Mr. N's death Mr. Smith's niece was sitting by him, to whom he said, " It is a great thing to die ; and when flesh and heart fail, to have God for the strength of our heart, and our portion for ever : I know whom I have believed, and he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day."

When Mrs. Smith (his niece, formerly Miss Catlett) came into the room, he said, " I have been meditating on a subject, 1 Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will de- clare what he hath done for my soul.' "

At another time he said, " More light, more love, more liberty — Hereafter I hope, when I shut my eyes on the things of time, I shall open them in a better world. What a thing it is to live under the shadow of the wings of the Almighty! Iam going the way of all flesh." And when one replied, " The Lord is gracious," he answered, " If it were not so, how could I dare to stand before him?"

The Wednesday before he died Mrs. G asked him

if his mind was comfortable ; he replied, " I am satisfied with the Lord's will."

Mr N. seemed sensible to his last hour, but expressed nothing remarkable after these words. He departed on the 2 J st, and was buried in the vault of his church the 31st of December, 1807, having left the following injunction, in a letter, for the direction of his executors.

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" I propose writing an epitaph for myself, if it may be put up, on a plain marble tablet, near the vestry-door, to the following purport :

JOHN NEWTON, Clehk, Once an Infidel and Libertine, A servant of slaves in Africa, Was, by the rich mercy of our Lord and Savior, JESUS CHRIST, Preserved, restored, pardoned, And appointed to preach the Faith, (He had long labored to destroy,) Near sixteen years at Olney, in Bucks, And . . years in this church. On Feb. 1, 1750, he married MARY,

Daughter of the late Georgt Catlett, Of Chatham, Kent. He resigned her, to the Lord who gave her, On the 15th of December, 1790.

" And I earnestly desire that no other monument, and no inscription but to this purport, may be attempted for me."

The following is a copy of the beginning of Mr. Newton'* will, dated June 13, 1803:—

" In the name of God, Amen. I John Newton, of Cole- man-street Buildings, in the parish of St. Stephen, Cole- man-street, in the city of London, Clerk, being, through mercy, in good health and of sound and disposing mind, memory, and understanding, although in the seventy-eighth year of my age, do, for the settling of my temporal concerns, and for the disposal of all the worldly estate which it hath pleased the Lord in his good providence to give me, make this my last Will and Testament as follows. I commit my soul to my gracious God and Savior, who mercifully spared and preserved me when I was an apostate, a blasphemer, and an infidel; and delivered me from that state of misery on the coast of Africa into which my obstinate wickedness had plunged me ; and who has been pleased to admit me (though most unworthy) to preach his glorious Gospel. I rely with humble confidence upon the atonement and media- tion of the Lord Jesus Christ, God and man, which I have often proposed to others as the only foundation whereon a sinner can build his hope ; trusting that he will guard and guide me through the uncertain remainder of my life, and

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that he will then admit me into his presence in his heavenly kingdom. I would have my body deposited in the vault under the parish church of Saint Mary Woolnoth, close to the coffins of my late dear wife and my dear niece, Eliza- beth Cunningham ; and it is my desire that my funeral may be performed with as little expense as possible, consistent with decency."

Remarks made by Mr. Newton in Familiar Conversation.

While the mariner uses the loadstone, the philosopher may attempt to investigate the cause; but after all, in steer- ing through the ocean, he can make no other use of it than the mariner.

If an angel were sent to find the most perfect man, he would probably not find him composing a body of divinity, but perhaps a cripple in a poor-house, whom the parish wish dead, and humbled before God with far lower thoughts of himself than others think of him.

When a Christian goes into the world because he sees it is his call, yet, while he feels it also his cross, it will not hurt him.

Satan will seldom come to a Christian with a gross temp- tation : a green log and a candle may be safely left together ; but bring a few shavings, then some small sticks, and then larger, and you may soon bring the green log to ashes.

If two angels were sent from heaven to execute a divine command, one to conduct an empire, and the other to sweep a street in it, they would feel no inclination to change em- ployments.

What some call providential openings are often powerful temptations; the heart, in wandering, cries, Here is a way opened before me: but, perhaps, not to be trodden but rejected.

I should have thought mowers very idle people ; but they work while they whet their scythes. Now devotedness to God, whether it mows or whets the scythe, still goes on with the work.

A Christian should never plead spirituality for being a sloven ; if he be but a shoe-cleaner, he should be the best in the parish.

My principal method of defeating heresy, is by esta-

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blishing truth. One proposes to fill a bushel with tares; now if I can fill it first with wheat, I shall defy his attempts.

When some people talk of religion, they mean they have heard so many sermons, and performed so many devotions, and thus mistake the means for the end. But true religion is an habitual recollection of God and intention to serve him, and this turns every thing into gold. We are apt to suppose that we need something splendid to evince our de- votion, but true devotion equals things — washing plates and cleaning shoes is a high office, if performed in a right spirit. If three angels were sent to earth, they would feel perfect indifference who should perform the part of prime-minister, parish minister, or watchman.

Many have puzzled themselves about the origin of evil; I observe there is evil, and that there is a way to escape it, and with this I begin and end.

Consecrated things under the law were first sprinkled with blood, and then anointed with oil, and thenceforward were no more common. Thus under the Gospel, every Christian has been a common vessel for profane purposes; but when sprinkled with the blood of Christ, and anointed by God the Father (2 Cor. 1 : 21,) he becomes separated and consecrated to God.

I would not give a straw for that assurance which sin will not damp. If David had come from his adultery, and had talked of his assurance at that time, I should have des- pised his speech.

A spirit of adoption is the spirit of a child ; he may dis- oblige his father, yet he is not afraid of being turned out of doors: the union is not dissolved, though the communion is. He is not well with his father, therefore must be unhappy, as their interests are inseparable.

We often seek to apply cordials when the patient is not prepared for them, and it is the patient's advantage, that he cannot take a medicine when prematurely offered. When a man comes to me and says, " I am quite happy," I aro not sorry to find him come again with some fears. I never saw a work stand well without a check. " I only want,* says one, " to be sure of being safe, and then I will go on.'' No; perhaps, then you will go off.

For an old Christian to say to a young one, " Stand it my evidence," is like a man who has with difficulty climbei

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by a ladder or scaffolding to the top of the house, and cries to one at the bottom, " This is a place for a prospect — come up at a step."

A Christian in the world is like a man who has had a long intimacy with one, whom at length he finds out to have been the murderer of a kind father; the intimacy, after this, will surely be broken.

"Except a man be born again, he cannot see the king- dom of God." A man may live in a deep mine in Hungary, never having seen the light of the sun ; he may have re- ceived accounts of prospects, and by the help of a candle may have examined a few engravings of them ; but let him be brought out of the mine, and set on the mountain, what a difference appears !

Candor will always allow much for inexperience. I have been thirty years forming my own views, and in the course of this time some of my hills have been sinking, and some of my valleys have risen ; but how unreasonable would it be to expect all this should take place in another person, and that in the course of a year or two.

Candor forbids us to estimate a character from its acci- dental blots. Yet it is thus that David, and others, haw- been treated.

There is the analogy of faith: it is a master key which not only opens particular doors, but carries you through the whole house ; but an attachment to a rigid system is dan- gerous. Luther once turned out the epistle of St. James, because it disturbed his system. I shall preach, perhaps, very usefully upon two seemingly opposite texts, while kept apart; but if I attempt nicely to reconcile them, it is ten to one if I don't begin to bungle.

I can conceive a living man without an arm or a leg, but not without a head or a heart; so there are some truths essential to vital religion, and which all awakened souls are taught.

Apostacy, in all its branches, takes its rise from atheism. " I have set the Lord always before me," &c.

We are surprised at the fall of a famous professor, but, in the sight of God, he was gone before ; it is only we that have now first discovered it. " He that despiseth small things, shall fall by little and little."

There are critical times of danger. After great services,

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honors, and consolations, we should stand upon our guard. Noah, IiOt, David, Solomon, fell in these circumstances. Satan is a footpad : a footpad will not attack a man in go- ing to the bank, but in returning with his pocket full of money.

A Christian is like a young nobleman, who, on going to receive his estate, is at first enchanted with its prospects ; this in a course of time may wear off, but a sense of the value of the estate grows daily.

When we first enter into the divine life, we propose to grow rich ; God's plan is to make us feel poor.

Good men have need to take heed of building upon groundless impressions. Mr. Whitfield had a son who, as he imagined, was born to be a very extraordinary man ; but the son soon died, and the father was cured of his mistake.

1 remember, in going to undertake the care of a congre- gation, I was reading as I walked in a green lane, " Fear not, Paul, I have much people in this city." But I soon afterward was disappointed in finding that Paul was not John, and that Corinth was not Warwick.

Christ has taken our nature into heaven to represent us; and has left us on earth with his nature to represent him.

Worldly men will be true to their principles ; and if we were as true to ours, the visits between the two parties would be short and seldom.

A Christian in the world is like a man transacting his affairs in the rain. He will not suddenly leave his client, because it rains ; but the moment the business is done, he is off: as it is said in the Acts, " Being let go, they went to their own company."

God's word is certainly a restraint ; but it is such a re- straint as the irons which prevent children from getting into the fire.

God deals with us as we do with our children ; he first speaks, then gives a gentle stroke, at last a blow.

The religion of a sinner stands on two pillars, namely, / what Christ did for us in his flesh, and what he performs in us by his Spirit. Most errors arise from an attempt to se- parate these two.

Man is not taught any thing to purpose till God becomes his teacher, and then the glare of the world is put out, and the value of the soul rises in full view. A man's present

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sentiments may not be accurate, but we make too much of scntimens. We pass a field with a tew blades, we call it a field of wheat ; but here is no wheat ; no, not in perfec- tion, but wheat is sown, and full ears may be expected.

Contrivers of systems on the earth are like contrivers of systems in the heavens ; where the sun and moon keep tho same course in spite of the philosophers.

A man always in society is one always on the spend ; on the other hand, a mere solitary is at his best but a candle in an empty room.

If we were upon the watch for improvement, the com- mon news of the day would furnish it ; the falling of the tower in Siloam, and the slaughter of the Galileans, were the news of the day which our Lord improved.

The generality make out their righteousness by compar- ing themselves with some others whom they think worse ; thus a woman of the town, who was in the Lock Hospital, was offended at a minister speaking to her as a sinner, be- cause she had never picked a pocket.

Take away a toy from a child and give him another, and he is satisfied ; but if he be hungry, no toy will do. Thus, as new-born babes, true believers desire the sincere milk of the word; and the desire of grace in this way is grace.

One said that the great saints hi the calendar were many of them poor sinners ; Mr. N. replied they were poor saints indeed, if they did not feel that they were great sinners.

The Lord has reason far beyond our ken, for opening a wide door while he stops the mouth of a useful preacher. John Bunyan would not have done half the good he did, if he had remained preaching in Bedford instead of being shut up in Bedford prison.

f Do not tell me of your feelings. A traveller would be glad of fine weather, but if he be a man of business, he will go on. Bunyan says, You must not judge of a man's haste by his horse, for when the horse can hardly move you may see, by the rider's urging him, what a hurry he is in.

Professors who own the doctrines of free grace, often act inconsistently with their own principles when they are angry at the defects of others.

We should take care that we do not make our profession of religion a receipt in full for all other obligations. A man truly illuminated will no more despise others than Barti

116

FAMILIAR REMARKS.

meus, after his own eyes were opened, would take a stick and beat every blind man he met.

It is pure mercy that negatives a particular request. A miser would pray very earnestly for gold, if he belisved prayer would gain it ; whereas, if Christ had any favor to him he would take his gold away. A child walks in the garden in spring, and sees cherries ; he knows they are good fruit, and therefore asks for them. " No, my dear," says the father, " they are not yet ripe ; stay till the season."

If I cannot take pleasure in infirmities, I can sometimes feel the profit of them. I can conceive a king to pardon a rebel, and take him into his famity, and then say, "I appoint you for a season to wear a fetter. At a certain season I will send a messenger to knock it off. In the mean time this fetter will serve to remind you of your state ; it may hum- ble you and restrain you from rambling."

The heir of a great estate, while a child, thinks more of a few shillings in his pocket than of his inheritance. So a Christian is often more elated by some frame of heart than by his title to glory.

I feel like a man who has no money in his pocket, but is allowed to draw for all he wants upon one infinitely rich ; I am, therefore, at once both a beggar and a rich man.

I went one day to Mrs. G 's just after she had lost

all her fortune ; I could not be surprised to find her in tears, but she said, " I suppose you think I am crying for my loss, but that is not the case : I am now weeping to think I should feel so much uneasiness on this account." After that I never heard her speak again upon the subject as long as she- lived.

Sometimes I compare the troubles which we have to un- dergo in the course of the year, to a great bundle of faggots, far too large for us to lift. But God does not require us to carry the whole at once ; he mercifully unties the bundle, and gives us first one stick, which we are to carry to-da}', and then another, which we are to carry to-morrow, and so on. This we might easily manage, if we would only take the burden appointed for us each day ; but we choose to in- crease our troubles by carrying yesterday's stick over again to-day, and adding to-morrow's burden to our load, before we are required to bear it.

THE END.

I THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY I

* f

j^j IX ADDITION TO BETWEEN FOUR AND FIVE HUNDRED ^

TRACTS

CHILDREN'S TRACTS,

HAVE PUBLISHED SEVERAL

i

& OCCASIONAL VOLUMES, |

OF A

HIGHLY SPIRITUAL AND EVANGELICAL

||

CHARACTER, .-.

Which are sold at the lowest prices, with reference to pro- moting their most extensive circulation and usefulness. i

AMONG THESE OCCASIONAL VOLUMES, ARC

w Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Religion in the M Soul.

Baxter's Saints' Everlasting Rest.

Twelve Sermons to the Aged, (in large type). By Rev. George Burder.

CHRISTIAN BIOGRAPHY, VIZ.

1. Memoir of Rev John Newton.

2. do. of Archbishop Leighton.

$j 3. do. of Rev. C. F. Swartz, Missionary Isdia.

*

*L * To which, other publications of a kindred chu

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